


The Marauders and the Withering Woods

by aconites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon Compliant, First War with Voldemort, Forbidden Forest, Gen, Marauders, Marauders' Era, Mystery, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-11-12 03:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 47,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11153070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aconites/pseuds/aconites
Summary: The giants have left their caves deep in the mountains.  A dark wizard has begun to call himself a Lord.  And the Hogwarts forest is attacking anyone who ventures near.The story of how the forest west of the grounds became forbidden, and of the Marauders’ first year at Hogwarts.





	1. Prologue: An Unwelcome Guest

**Author's Note:**

> I've done my best to adhere to canon (and spent a lot of hours on Potter Wiki). POV will alternate between the characters. All pairings are eventual, and, like their personalities, will evolve based on maturity. 
> 
> If you have any questions you'd like to send anonymously or just want to chat about the fic, my blog for the Marauders stories is [aconitesfic.tumblr.com](http://www.aconitesfic.tumblr.com)

The cottage at the outskirts of the town of Hay-on-Wye saw few visitors. 

This was not for lack of trying on the visitors’ part. Only last week, Gwyneth had walked a couple miles down the gravel road that led out of town, over rolling, grassy hills, and paused at the head of a narrow dirt path leading from it. She studied a double set of bicycle tire tracks leading behind a large hedge, and found that she had somehow forgotten why she had come. How odd, to be all the way out here with a tin of biscuits! She absently popped open the lid and munched on one, feeling a growing sense of urgency that led her back to town- had she left the stove on? 

Today, down the dirt path and behind the largest hill for miles around, a _crack_ of noise like a whip broke the lazy hum of grasshoppers in the fields. A set of dusty footprints joined others that abruptly began several feet from a wooden gate, which was dry and cracking with age but carefully sanded smooth. The footsteps paused here, and the man they belonged to lifted the gate’s metal latch. 

Inside the cottage, a high tinkle of bells rang out. Hope reached up to grasp them where they dangled on a string thin as floss. 

"Finally," said a boy sitting at the kitchen table, who was picking absently at the edge where it peeled from the particle board below. "I'm starving."

"Hm," Hope inspected the hand making quick work of her table. "Is that mud?"

The boy peered at the cloth bandage that had half unraveled from his hand. "Prolly." 

A deep chime rang out from the clock in the front hall. "Change it out before you get the plates.”

The front door creaked open, and a moment later the man appeared around the corner. He was tall and wore a set of plain brown robes. His face was lined in a way that suggested he was older than his years, but when he saw Hope, he smiled. 

"Need me to fetch takeout?" he asked, and hopped away when she smacked his shoulder. 

"That was your son's fault," she caught the man and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

"I watched the timer, dad," the boy returned from the washroom, hand swathed in a fresh bandage. 

"Good lad," the man poked at a pan on the stove, peeling back foil.

"We learned about Lethifolds today," Hope sat at the kitchen table, frowning at the painted china teapot on a sunny yellow wall. For a moment, it seemed as if the painted lid had wobbled.

"Isn't that a bit frightening of a topic?" the man peered at his son. "What book were you-"

"You'll go grey with worry, dear," Hope teased. 

"Are there barguests in the fields?" the boy cut in.

The man turned sharply. "Why, did you see-"

The small bells over the kitchen sink tinkled. All three of the kitchen's occupants froze. 

"Lyall," Hope stared at the painted teapot lid, which was now clearly wobbling without cease, "did you latch the gate behind you?"

"Remus," Lyall's tone changed abruptly, "go to your room." 

The painted teapot lid burst upwards as if expelled by a great force from within, and a blue and emerald serpentine being slithered out, at first the size of a caterpillar, then growing rapidly to blot out the yellow paint behind it. The occamy opened its great maw with a soundless shriek. 

The clock in the front hall tolled once, twice, three times, joining the continuing tinkle of the bells in a disharmonious clamor that echoed throughout the small house. 

"Now!" Lyall ordered, as Remus peered curiously at the front door. He had reached the top of the stairs when a single knock sounded through the hall. 

Lyall slipped his wand, a thin, worn length of wood, from his robes. "Finite Incantantem," he muttered, and the chimes went silent. 

Two knocks rang out again, louder this time in the ensuing hush. Lyall went to the door, but Hope held him back with a hand on his shoulder. 

She turned the knob, and pulled. 

A man resplendent in shining mauve robes smiled up at her, eyes twinkling over half-moon spectacles. 

"Mrs. Lupin?" the glass beads woven through his beard twinkled in the sun as he leaned forward. 

"Hope," she introduced, curiosity getting the better of her as she looked him over; he was perhaps the most flamboyantly magical person she had ever seen. 

"Hope," he corrected, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I've come to talk about your son, Remus." 

She took a step back at this, unconsciously letting the door fall, but a hand on hers stopped it. 

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore," Lyall took a step forward, opening the door. 

"Lyall!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "Wonderful. I was worried my timing had been off."

"Did you receive my letter?" Lyall asked, stepping into the space between the open door and the interior of the cottage.

"Yes," Dumbledore replied, "but I-"

"He's too sick to attend," Lyall cut in firmly. "I’m afraid it won’t be possible. Don't come here again. Please," he added reflexively.

Lyall released the door, and it swung the final few inches to bang shut. Immediately, three blots slid audibly into place, one after the other. 

"Letter?" Hope raised an eyebrow. 

"It came by owl post," Lyall avoided her gaze. 

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

"It's not worth an argument," Lyall bent down to reset the hall clock. 

"So you've decided you know what's best, hm?" Hope crossed her arms over her chest. "I mightn't have even heard he got his Hogwarts letter-"

"Keep your voice down," Lyall's gaze darted to the stairs. He looked at Hope, and abandoned fiddling with the clock. "It seemed cruel to give him false hope. Better that he doesn't know." 

"Well," Hope softened. "What should I tell him?"

Lyall waved a hand at this, and made towards the stairs. "I'll talk to him."

A small collection of portraits in wood frames flanked the narrow staircase on either side. They recorded an eclectic array of scenes- a young boy standing on sheer cliff high in the mountains, cheeks flushed and hair on end. Hope wearing a knit wool hat and petting a llama. Lyall peering into a street where the buildings seemed to curl in on themselves. One small picture beneath the others moved as a younger Hope blew a raspberry into a squirming baby's stomach, Lyall's arm around her waist as he laughed and made faces at the baby. 

When Lyall reached the door of Remus' bedroom, his body went rigid. Seconds later, his wand snapped out in front of himself. 

"Please put that down, Lyall," a deep, soft voice spoke from within.

Mauve robes pouring over the small chair opposite Remus', head bent low over a table with an open game of gobstones, Professor Dumbledore turned to look at them both over half-moon spectacles. 

"I am not here to harm your family," Dumbledore continued, "but I really must insist that I am not leaving until given the chance to speak about young Mr. Lupin's education."

"And I have made it clear to you that it would be far too dangerous for him to attend!" Lyall snapped, the lines on his face emphasized by the rigidity of his expression. 

"Is that so?" Dumbledore studied Lyall. "It would be better, then, to keep him here? To encourage him to suppress his magic?"

"I have been educating him myself," Lyall frowned. "Suppress his- just what do you take me for?"

"Educating him without a wand," Dumbledore replied, "without teaching him to use magic. Or to control it. Obscuri have been created from less. No, please," Dumbledore held up a hand at Lyall's expression of shocked anger, "I know you mean well. But you are ruled by fear, Lyall, and fear will not teach your son to thrive."

"You do not always know what is best for everyone, Albus," Lyall growled. "You are not omniscient, and despite what you may think you don’t know my family as well as I do."

Dumbledore studied him sadly. "You are not the young man I remember. Time does make strangers of us all.” He sat up straight, long legs sprawled in front of the low chair. “I meant to approach the topic more sensitively, but I see now I should be forthright. I know, Lyall. I’ve known for quite some time- I have spies among the dark creatures, you see, and Fenrir was hardly one to keep his doings quiet. I was terribly sorry to hear of the attack, all those years ago."

Lyall went white as cream. "You-," his gaze darted to Remus, who was watching them quietly, eyes wide and curious.

"Professor," Hope cleared her throat. "Would you join us for tea downstairs?"

Two sugar cubes floated from their tray with a flick of Albus Dumbledore's wrist, hovered over his steaming cup, and dissolved into crystals that rained down like snow. 

"What is your plan, then, Mr. Dumbledore?" Hope asked.

"My plan?"

"For Remus' education. If you came here knowing that he's, ah-"

"A werewolf," Dumbledore interjected. "Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself. Warranted or not."

"A werewolf," Hope continued at Lyall's poorly controlled flinch, "you must have some sort of plan for him."

"Yes, of course," Dumbledore cupped his mug in his hands. "I have been working for the past several months on a means to contain your son during his transformations that will ensure the safety of everyone involved. And, forgive me- you should know that I am very good at my job."

"Even if he is contained during his transformations, he will not be safe," Lyall sighed, hands cradling his mug. "I've turned this over in my head- I can't tell you how many times. The other children will know. It doesn't take as long as you might think for the signs to add up- the scars, the disappearances and injuries once a month. And once the children so much as suspect, the gossip will spread, one parent will hear of it, and," he spun his mug by its handle. "There will be nowhere far enough that I can run to hide him. Assuming they don’t come for me first."

"I do not want to make light of your experiences," Dumbledore said slowly, "but I do not believe the possibility will occur to them. In fact, they may bend their minds around the truth to seek an explanation they find more palatable."

"It would happen, sooner or later," Lyall gazed around the little kitchen with its chipped table and yellow walls. "You can't blame me for hoping he might choose to live in his mother's world, where he would be free from the fear and hatred in ours."

"He is already a part of our world, by right of his birth," Dumbledore said. "And he will be hated and feared whether he is educated or not."

"I need to think," Lyall dropped his mug and stood abruptly, the screen banging shut behind him as he walked out the back door and into the fields. 

"If Remus chooses to go, I will make sure he does," Hope watched as Lyall disappeared from sight. 

"He will understand, with time," Albus followed her gaze. 

Hope laughed. "I think he understands too much. I am not taking anyone's side, Mr. Dumbledore.” She gave him a shrewd look. “I believe in your sincerity, but I have the sense that you are not always what you appear. In any case,” she peered toward the front hall, “I think my son would not forgive us if we made this decision for him. Remus?” she called.  
The footsteps clattering to the bottom of the stairs were far less than the number of stairs to the second floor.

"Yes?" Remus appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. 

"I thought you two might talk,” Hope looked at her son, who wore the blank expression he adopted whenever he was hiding something. “I’ll be out back.”

Once Hope had left through the back door, Dumbledore paused and took a sip of his tea while Remus shifted foot to foot. "How much of our conversation did you overhear?" 

"Hm?"

Dumbledore raised a brow. 

"Most of it," Remus admitted. "Can I really go to Hogwarts?"

"I believe so," Albus abandoned his mug of tea and looked around the cheerful, cozy room. His gaze fixed on a door that stood in sharp contrast to the sleeping image of an erumpent nearby. 

The door was heavy, solid wood, reinforced with steel and no less than seven different varieties of locks and bars. It seemed to swallow the golden light of the evening around it, its center barely visible. 

"Alohomora," Albus' wand pointed at the door, and with a clatter of chains and slide of bolts, all of the locks simultaneously burst open. The door swung inward, revealing a dark cellar below.

Remus stared quietly at it for a moment. “I broke a window, last time.”

Albus remained silent, and did not move from where he was seated. 

"I thought that was why you were here. Dad doesn't invite wizards over. I thought maybe you'd come to take me away."

"Take you away where?"

Remus shrugged. "To the Ministry, I guess."

"Ah," Albus followed Remus' gaze into the cellar. "To arrest you. Do you think you deserve that?"

Remus did not turn to meet his gaze. "I'm dangerous."

"Yes," Albus mused, "and I am far more dangerous than you are. Yet I can walk through society unfettered by prejudice. Isn't that curious?"

"My dad didn't think I could reach the window," Remus looked just past Dumbledore, to the back door. "He's scared."

"You would not jeopardize the safety of your fellow students at Hogwarts."

"How can you know?" Remus finally looked at him.

"Because I would ensure you did not," Dumbledore peered at Remus. "But I can only be certain my plan will work if you promise to adhere to the system I have put in place for the safety of all my students, including yourself. Can I place my trust in you?"

"Yes," Remus straightened his shoulders. "I promise. You can trust me."

"Then I believe this is overdue," Dumbledore drew a sealed envelope from his robes. It was addressed to a _Mr. R. J. Lupin, second floor bedroom, the cottage off the dirt goat path near Hay-on-Wye._  
Remus reached for the letter and carefully unstuck the seal before he slid it out with wide eyes. "Thank you."

"Do you have a decision for me today, Remus? I don't mean to rush you, but it is important that certain preparations be made."

The sounds of voices from the backyard grew louder, distinct over the hum of crickets. Remus' eyes went to the kitchen window.

"I don't want to hurt my dad,” Remus hedged. “And I know my mum will be worried."

"It is admirable, to care for those we love," Dumbledore offered. "At some point, however, you must make decisions about what you would like for yourself."

Remus nodded, and the back door opened to reveal first his mother, then his father.

"I want to go," Remus announced.

"Remus," Lyall sighed. "I know you want to, but," he stopped abruptly, because Remus had walked over and leaned up to give him a hug. Speechless, Lyall patted his son on the head until he was released.

"I'll be alright, dad," Remus said seriously. "Don't worry."

Hope let out a huff of a laugh at this. "It is what he does best. Mr. Dumbledore, we'll send a letter along shortly."

Albus, recognizing a dismissal when he was given one, nodded to her. "Thank you for the tea. I hope you'll come visit to test the wards we have created yourself. In the very least, you might enjoy the young whomping willow we have just planted."

Lyall looked from his son's wide, hopeful eyes to his wife's curious look at the words 'whomping willow,' and sighed. "Yes," he agreed, "I think I ought to."

"Wonderful," the glass beads in Dumbledore's beard tinkled as he stood. "I will look forward to our next meeting," he looked at Remus, winked, and disapparated from the kitchen with a loud _crack_.


	2. Cypress, Chestnut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another Remus-centric chapter for Diagon Alley. Next chapter will switch to Sirius POV for the train ride. 
> 
> Also, shoutout to my editor (accrementitious.tumblr.com) who has done an incredible amount of labor via back and forth edits and also sitting on me to make sure I finished this story for continuity before I started posting! <3

The storefront was like many others in Hay-on-Wye, old stone with carefully maintained colorful trimmings. In the fair weather, shelves of books had been placed outside for tourists to mull through and therefore look intelligent and learned. 

Remus’ father gave them all a friendly smile, checking at the door to see he had not lost his son. The muggle couple before them passed the threshold in silence, but as they entered a bell tinkled in warm greeting. 

The shopkeeper bustled over at the sound of the bell, a broad smile on her face that accentuated years of laugh lines. “Lyall!” she boomed, making one of her customers jump. “Oh! And young Remus,” she leaned down to pat his shoulder. “I’ve told your father he should bring you by here more often,” she slipped him a peppermint toad from one of her expansive pockets with a wink. “But he insists on keeping you all to himself!” 

“Thank you,” Remus said, and popped the peppermint toad into his mouth. He felt his stomach do a queasy flip of excitement. Though perhaps that was just the toad hopping around. 

“I’ve told you,” Lyall protested, “the boy’s sick! Can’t be dragging him out here every day.”

“Well,” she peered down at Remus, “he looks fine to me. Come ‘round while the weather’s warm, won’t you? My Rhys’s just got a broom for his birthday, and you could have a go.” 

Remus looked up at his father, who would not look back at him. It was probably better that he not play with Rhys. Soon enough, they’d start to notice the bandages that collected like lint on a black robe every time the full moon came ‘round. If he tried to stay away whenever he had his arm in a sling, they’d notice the pattern sooner. They’d ask why such a sick little boy was never floo’d to Mungos or any other hospital. Gossip would spread through the little town. Dad would worry, mom would look sad as she began to pull out boxes, and they would have to leave the warm little house with its wide fields. 

“Well, that’s why we’re here, actually,” Lyall diverted, “Remus’ health has been a bit better lately, and we thought we’d give school a try.” He gave her a significant look, and her eyes widened. 

“ _School_ , oh, congratulations!” She guided Remus by the shoulder to a wobbling set of stairs at the back of the shop. “Come on, then, you’ll need to get your things!” 

The stairs wobbled but caught under three pairs of feet; Remus suspected they were held in place by more than nails and glue. Briallen slid a wand from one of her numerous pockets, pointed it at the door at the top of the stairs with a muttered _alohomora_ , and ushered them inside. 

The dusty attic was full to bursting; you could hardly step forward without knocking over a bin of quills or jar of shining black newt’s eyes. In the corner, a needle industriously continued repairing a used robe that had split at the seam. 

Pinned up, yellowing posters on the wall advertised potions ingredients and charmed household items ( _Any dirt, any grime, use QuickPolish and it’ll shine!_ ). A cat sitting on the windowsill gave a great yawn, blinked at them with keen eyes, then lost interest and stalked over to the stairs. 

The first time he’d visited, Remus didn’t want to leave for hours- the knitting was doing itself! Was that a sealed jar of tentacles? He’d mostly learned about magic through books with his mother. Once, he’d seen his father stirring a pot of soup absently with his wand and been so enraptured he’d literally watched water boil. 

There were, of course, the times dad came home having heard of a new cure for lycanthropy, and a week later they’d be in Tibet surrounded by goats. Remus would eat some root that would make him throw up or, on one memorable occasion, see rainbows. Once, in Egypt, he was pretty sure he’d just been given camel dung. 

“Just the floo, for now,” Lyall was saying to Briallen, handing over a few knuts. “We’ll be back for the rest of his things. Just trying to miss the afternoon crowd, busy time of year!”

Remus watched the shopkeeper pull down a jar of powder from the fireplace mantel- it was odd, he’d barely noticed it there, a fireplace in the attic. It was as if his eyes had simply skittered past it. 

“Where are we going?” Remus asked. 

“Diagon Alley, of course,” Lyall said. “Ollivander’s. Only place to get a wand.” 

The shopkeeper uncapped the jar of powder and offered it to his father. 

“Diolch, Briallen,” his dad took a handful of grey ash, and gestured for Remus to do the same. He clutched the fine powder in his fist, some of it falling to the floor. 

“You’ll have been too young to remember doing this, I think,” Lyall told Remus as he stepped into the fireplace. “Just remember, say the words very clearly, then drop the powder.” 

Remus nodded; he’d seen an illustration in one of the books Dad had brought him. 

“Diagon Alley,” Lyall said clearly, dropped his floo powder, and vanished. 

“Don’t be frightened, dear,” Briallen said as she shepherded Remus into the fireplace. This was odd; it hadn’t occurred to him to be frightened. He was nearly quivering with excitement. 

Remus stood straight and raised his fist. “Diagon Alley!” he dropped the powder, and held his breath. It was as if he were being squeezed down a tube too small for his body. He saw flashes of various rooms- a large, stately chandelier, a couple kissing on a couch, a little creature with large ears and tennis-ball sized eyes. 

Suddenly, the air returned to his lungs with a large gasp and he fell forward. He would have smashed straight onto his face if it hadn’t been for his father, laughing as he caught him at the last moment. Remus stepped out of the fireplace, coughing. 

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Lyall said, brushing stray ash from his robes. “Come along, there will be others trying to get through.” As soon as he said this, a wizard with shining navy robes emerged from the fireplace, raising a hand to sift the ash from his curling hair. 

Lyall was already moving towards the door, and Remus jogged to keep up. The atrium they had entered was covered from floor to ceiling in polished mosaic tiles. He craned his neck upwards, and watched as a man larger than Remus’ entire body strode across the ceiling carrying the earth on his back. 

Lyall looked back at the door to find his erstwhile son. “Remus?” 

“The ceiling,” Remus pointed upward. “Atlas is moving.” 

“Well, yes,” Lyall replied, bemused. “Of course he is. The creatures your mum painted move, don’t they?” 

Dad had enchanted the sleeping erumpent to make mom happy, but this felt different. It seemed as if Atlas were alive within the tiles, and he swore that for a moment Atlas’ massive eye had looked straight at him. 

“Dad,” Remus jogged to catch up, “can paintings-“

His dad had paused to wait for him in the stone archway leading into a bustling, narrow alley, and Remus lost his train of thought. 

The alley was alive. He could _feel_ it. Stacked buildings swayed and caught in the wind, crooked pitched roofs steady at angles in defiance of gravity. Beyond the dusty glass panes of shop windows, objects danced and sang as if by clockwork- but that wasn’t quite right. They moved in circles, zig zags; it was nothing like muggle machinery at all. An owl swooped low over the crowd, knocking a witch’s hat down to the cobblestones to be trodden on by three pairs of feet before she retrieved it. 

“Stay close,” Lyall said, and pressed into the fold of bodies. 

His dad’s body disappeared immediately into the fold, but he was so tall that occasionally his head would poke above the crowd, and Remus would dash after him. He glanced at a troop of mice dancing in a shop window, ran into a teetering display of cauldrons that bounced back like rubber, and from then on doggedly watched his own feet and tried to keep up.

Remus was a bit disappointed when they stopped at the storefront that read Ollivander’s in peeling letters. There were no moving posters, no tiny models of quidditch players passing a quaffle. His father was accosted almost at once by a broad man with brown robes. 

“Lyall!” the man said, pumping his father’s hand firmly. “The wife’s in with my youngest- Ophelia, you remember the pictures? Got a bit crowded in there, thought I’d pop out for some air.” He let go of Lyall’s hand and gave him a once over. “What brings you here?” 

“My son, actually,” Lyall gestured to Remus. “First year at Hogwarts,” he said proudly, and Remus stepped forward. 

“Ah, yes! I keep forgetting,” he brow furrowed, then cleared. “Romulus, is it?” the man peered down at him. 

“Remus,” he corrected. 

“That’s right!” the man boomed. “I work with your dad at the Ministry, Remus. So glad to hear you’re well enough to attend Hogwarts!”

Remus’ dad gave him a warning look, and Remus bit back his annoyance. He sometimes had the impression that his dad thought he was about to scream “I’m a werewolf!” to anyone they met. 

“Why don’t you head in, Remus?” Lyall pushed him towards the door. “I’ll be in soon.” 

The narrow shop had high shelves packed tight with small boxes; in the gap between the shelves and the ceiling, there was no inch of space without a box wedged in. 

“Hello?” Remus called to the abandoned storefront, and made his way down one of the dark rows of shelves. In the back of the store, there was a witch with purple hair speaking to a short boy with blond hair about his own age. A small mountain of discarded boxes lay on one of the shelves next to them. The boy picked up yet another wand when she offered, brandished it, then sighed as the shopkeeper shook her head. 

A young girl came bouncing past in the next aisle over, carrying a box. Remus scanned the shelves. The notations on the boxes were undecipherable- _Be, 8½, Pl_ , said one in tiny, looping script. He looked around for help, but the woman at the back continued to heap wands on an ever growing pile for the woeful boy. 

As Remus wandered the shop, he had far too much time to think. If that boy had such trouble finding a wand, what might his process be like? He’d never thought to study whether wands accepted dark creatures as their owners. What if only certain types of wands would choose him? Were there evil wands? What if one chose him, and the wandmakers knew there was something wrong with him? Should he simply try the wands himself? But there were so many-

Remus spotted the back of an older man, his greying hair frizzing behind him like a halo. He approached the man’s back; he didn’t like to shout. 

“Hello?” he called, and the man turned. His eyes were wide and bright as they studied Remus; he felt like a particularly exotic insect encased in amber. 

“E-Excuse me,” Remus stuttered, “Can you tell me how I might choose a wand?” 

The man smiled, thin lips spreading wide. “I cannot.” 

Remus only stared, unsure what to say next. He wished his father had come in with him, and that the man outside hadn’t insisted on talking quite so much. 

“The wand chooses the wizard, er-“ the man tilted his head, peering down at Remus. 

“Remus. Lupin,” he replied quickly. 

“Son of Lyall Lupin?” the man said interestedly, not bothering to introduce himself. It was obvious, after all; he must be Ollivander. 

“Yes,” Remus replied, wanting to move from the spotlight of the man’s gaze. 

“Rowan and unicorn hair, ten inches,” Ollivander nodded. “And your mother?” 

“Hope, er, Howell,” it took Remus a moment to remember his mother’s maiden name. 

“She did not come here,” Ollivander tilted his head. 

“No, sir,” Remus confirmed. “My mom isn’t a witch.” 

“How tall?” Ollivander snapped back at once. 

“Not very,” Remus reflected. “But, not short, either.” _Not tall, but not short,_ Remus thought to himself. _Now the best wandmaker in Britain thinks you’re daft. Well done._

“Hmm,” Ollivander brushed past Remus into the depths of the shop. “Perhaps, alder with dragon heartstring? Ten inches?” He handed Remus the wand, and Remus took it, unsure what to do. 

“No,” Ollivander said at once. “A little experiment-“ he moved several shelves toward the front of the shop, and Remus followed. Another wand was thrust into his hand. “Black walnut, twelve inches.” 

The wand rolled in his hand, and Remus nearly dropped it. 

“I see,” Ollivander smiled mysteriously. “But, what about,“ he took two boxes down from a neighboring shelf, and opened the first. “Cypress, unicorn hair, eight inches.” 

Remus grasped the offered wand, and heard himself gasp. He felt warm down to his toes, and the wand was glowing slightly in his palm. 

“Serviceable,” Ollivander muttered, taking the wand from him. Remus felt a sense of loss when it was plucked from his hand. “But I think-“ Ollivander offered the second box, and Remus took the wand from it. 

The warm feeling came back in force, the wand glowing so brightly in his hand that it illuminated the entire length of the aisle. A feeling bubbled up inside him that released itself in a wild laugh. It was a kind of joy he’d never felt- a wand had chosen _him_! He could feel magic course through him like the stream that had poured over its banks and into their cellar in the spring. This was what being a wizard meant, and he might’ve never known it. He drew the wand closer to his chest, marveling at its simple, polished taper, the easy weight of it balanced on his palm. 

“Cypress, unicorn hair, ten and a quarter inches,” Ollivander’s voice brought him back to the shop. “For a witch or wizard who will die a heroic death.” His eyebrows rose at these final words, and he offered the box for Remus to return the wand to its protective wrappings. 

Remus stood in place, barely having processed the words. The wand was still warm in his palm. _Cypress…for a wizard who will die a heroic death._

“Go fetch your father, lad,” Ollivander instructed. “I’ll keep it at the front.” 

Remus went to the front of the shop as if in a dream, blinking as the sunlight reappeared through windows caked with dust. The short boy from before was with his mother at the till, looking quite relieved as his mother handed over several gold galleons. Their eyes met, and the boy smiled sheepishly at Remus. 

“It won’t disappear, go on,” the wandmaker shooed Remus.

When Remus opened the door of the shop, he was nearly swept away in the bustling crowd, and had to fight his way over to where his father stood, head bowed, still talking to the broad man who now stood plastered to the shop wall.

"He's recruiting," Remus heard the man say before a tall, red-haired man dropped a cauldron that went clanging down over the cobblestones. Remus managed to break free of the crowd, and met his father's eyes, which had been scanning the people passing by. 

"-word is, he's given the giants," Remus heard the broad man say before his father stopped him with a hand to his shoulder.

"It looks as if my son needs me, Richard," Remus' father turned and gave him a broad smile that looked odd on his face. "My best to your family."

"Is there something happening with giants?" Remus asked.

"Just work," Remus' dad waved the question away. "It was quite boring, actually," he winked, "so thank you for saving me."

"I've got a wand," Remus announced as they went through the shop door.

"Have you?" his dad's eyebrows shot up. "That was fast!"

"Quick study," Ollivander remarked, peering down at Remus with that odd piercing gaze as his father went to the till.

Remus looked away, and met the gaze of the short boy who had been surrounded by a pile of wands.

"You starting at Hogwarts this year too?" the boy asked, friendly. 

“Yeah,” Remus confirmed. 

“I think I just tried about a thousand wands,” the boy’s face scrunched into a wince that made his eyes beady in the depths of his face. 

“Maybe you’re something rare,” Remus reassured him. 

“I dunno,” the boy looked doubtful. “Creepy bloke, isn’t he?” Peter dropped his voice, inclining his head up toward Ollivander. “Heard what he said about your wand. Who in their right mind says something like that?” he scoffed. “I think it’s bollocks. He likes to be a bit mysterious, yeah? Bet he tells everyone that.” 

Remus felt a rush of relief; the moment had felt odd, as if it hadn’t happened at all. Peter’s casual dismissal loosened something in his chest. 

“I’m Peter,” the boy introduced himself, awkwardly holding his hand out, then quickly pulling it back to scratch his temple. “See you on the train, then?” he asked hopefully. 

“Yeah,” Remus smiled.

“Ace,” Peter nodded, and gave him a half wave as he left.

*

As they walked home, Remus couldn’t stop asking questions; his father could scarcely draw breath to answer him before he had come up with another. He ate dinner as quickly as he could, and hauled his bags up to his room. He spent a couple hours opening the packages, trying on robes only to fold them back into their paper wrapping, determinedly shining his dinged pewter cauldron. Skimming his schoolbooks, he marked pages to show his mom that had previously been filled with underlined spells and unfamiliar handwriting. 

He waited to remove his wand from its long, thin box with looping silver script last of all. As he felt the balance of its weight in his grasp, it felt like incontrovertible evidence of what he was, and what now could never be taken away from him. 

Remus sat on the edge of his bed, toes tapping on the floor, and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diolch=thanks (Welsh)
> 
> Hay-on-Wye, the town where I've placed Remus' family, is the "National Book Town" in Wales and has an annual book festival.
> 
> Also like most writers I live on sunlight feedback and the occasional toast so if you like the thing tap that button


	3. Daring, Nerve, and Chivalry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hover over text for translations. Hover text does not work on mobile phones, but all translations will be in the end notes for accessibility reasons. 
> 
> The train ride is the only place where I know I deviated from canon in this fic- worked better for the flow.

“Second button from the bottom, young Master,” the mirror commented stiffly, a pair of disapproving eyes morphing into existence from its smooth silver frame.

Sirius peered at his reflection, and found the offending button on his black waistcoat. “Of course. It wouldn’t do to make the wrong impression,” he replied in a cold, shrill voice. 

Regulus, hovering behind him in his own set of shining and impeccably tailored black robes, giggled. 

“Yes,” Sirius continued with a supercilious brow, “wouldn’t want to be mistaken for the herd. Appearance is status, as our ancestors would say. Toujours Pur.” He ruffled his hand through his hair with a frown. 

“SIRIUS ORION BLACK,” Walburga’s ear-splitting tone carried up the stairs. 

“Mustn’t tarry,” Sirius continued in a voice uncannily like his mother’s. “What are you smiling at, ungrateful brat,” he frowned at Regulus, which only made him dissolve again into laughter. 

Sirius stepped onto the landing, then down the stairs, his hand sliding easily over the gloss of the mahogany banister. He gave each of the portraits of his ancestors flanking the stairs a solemn nod of farewell, ignoring the quaver lurking behind his ribcage. 

“Phineas,” he gave a flourishing wave to the portrait, who slept on unawares. His trunks had already been brought downstairs by Kreacher, who was near to fits from his Mistress’ buoyant mood. 

“Straighten you out, they will,” Kreacher had got to saying with a nasty grin. This had, of course, only escalated Sirius’ resolve to be sure Kreacher had special surprises waiting for each month of Sirius’ absence. 

The emerald and silver wallpaper in the entryway of the Moste Ancient and Noble House of Black glowed with the pride of a well-maintained home. Tables were free of accumulated dust, and spindly ancient chairs stood without a scratch, austere and untouchable. Sirius’ mother waited by the door, irritably tucking a strand of hair into a tight bun netted with pearls. His father had not left his study for the day. 

Walburga looked her son up and down, and walked over with a sharp clack of heels on hardwood. Her hands hovered over Sirius’ shoulders, tapped them briefly as if discouraging wrinkles, then retreated. 

“Appearance is status,” she said absently.

Regulus suddenly broke into a fit of desperate coughing, which Walburga paid no attention to. 

“Kreacher!” Walburga called, and the house elf cracked into existence in the entryway.

“Yes Mistress,” he simpered. “The bags are in the coach, Mistress.” 

“Well done, elf,” she said indulgently. “Boys,” Walburga snapped, striding out the front door. Sirius and Regulus filed in line behind her. The door swung shut behind Regulus, and 12 Grimmauld Place disappeared. 

The coach was a masterpiece of gleaming black steel embossed with silver that rode upon four large wheels. It had no horses and no driver; urbanization and the necessity of blending with muggles meant that goblins or elves could not care for the horses. Thus, other magical means had been devised to propel the vehicle through the masses of muggles filling the streets with automobiles. 

Four ornate sconces at each corner of the coach lit upon their arrival, and a set of steps unfolded to give Walburga access to the glass-enclosed carriage. Sirius entered behind her, gripping the silver hand rails, and disappeared inside. 

Sirius sat on one of six plush velvet benches in the cavernous interior of the coach, and said nothing when Walburga pulled the emerald velvet hangings over the windows. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw one of the snakes wrought into the metal writhe. When he turned to face it, the snake was still. Regulus took a seat next to Sirius’, and the door snapped shut. The carriage glided forward as if its wheels never fully touched the ground. 

“How many of my ancestors have been poisoned in this carriage, mother?” Sirius enquired as the snake began once again to writhe in the periphery of his vision. Walburga ignored him. 

“You should be careful,” Walburga turned her sharp gaze on him, and Sirius felt as if his insides had been flayed open for her to examine, “to make the right acquaintances. Cissy tells me Lucius has found Avery and Mulciber are sympathetic to the restoration of the First Families.” 

“Yes, mother,” Sirius nodded, looking at her but only half-listening- he hardly needed to at this point. He’d heard all his life of what the First Families had lost. _Positions taken from them by mudbloods and blood traitors, the less magically gifted given special privileges._ His father had nearly popped a vein when he learned of muggle studies being taught at Hogwarts.

“Family is all we really have, Sirius,” his mother replied, her eyes narrowing. “Remember that.” 

“Of course,” Sirius said, trying to peek past the velvet curtains as they whizzed through traffic, alternately shrinking and passing through cars as if the carriage were made of ether and not matter. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He was so close, and surprised to find there was a part of him that was reluctant to leave after all. Better the devil you know. 

“Sirius,” Regulus broke the tension with a tug to the sleeve of his robes, “want a game of chess?” The board rolled out to steady itself between them, righting with a small shiver. 

Walburga suddenly pulled out her wand and pointed it at Sirius, who froze immediately with panic. Before he could apologize for whatever he’d done, she merely flicked one of the ornate switches behind his head, and the coach sped up. Sirius breathed out, and turned his attention to the chess board. 

They did not have time to finish the game, but Sirius’ heart wasn’t in it anyhow; it was clear Regulus would have beaten him. The annihilation of each piece only made Sirius’ jitters worsen till he was tapping his toe on the floor. His mother gave him a disapproving frown. 

“Regulus, you wait here with the coach,” Walburga instructed, and filed out of the coach as if the stares of the muggles with their cars surrounding the carriage were beneath her. Sirius flushed hotly and resisted the urge cover his embarrassment by waving dramatically at the onlookers. He hauled his trunk into one of the carts, and made his way through the great brick arches of the station, jogging to catch up with his mother. 

Walburga strode through the wall of Platform 9¾ with practiced ease, Sirius following behind. He nearly stumbled into his mother, who he watched slam into a boy his age blinking at the Hogwarts Express in awe. 

The boy stumbled over his own trunk, then turned to Walburga, who Sirius knew from experience must be simmering with one of her best glares. The boy went pale as chalk. 

“S-sorry,” he stammered on, as if he couldn’t stop himself. He shook unevenly cut hair out of his wide eyes. “I’m so sorry, ma’am.” Walburga gave him and his secondhand robes a once over that clearly stated she would rather root her hand around in the garbage than come in contact with him again. His politeness in the face of this was so sincere and unwavering as to be pathological. 

“Run,” Sirius mouthed silently behind his mother’s back. 

“Remus!” a man’s voice called from the crowd of milling parents and students, and the boy scrambled to pick up his trunk. “Sorry, ma’am!” the boy said again, then ran off. 

“I will write you to check on your progress,” Walburga’s hands hovered over his shoulders again. After a moment, she withdrew her hands and dusted them compulsively on her robes, as if cleansing herself of the taint of the children swarming in all directions. “The train will leave in ten minutes, and I expect you to be on board before that time.” 

“Yes, mother,” Sirius said, his heart pounding so fast he was afraid she could hear it. 

Walburga turned and departed with an elegant swirl of robes. Sirius watched her disappear through the barrier and swallowed, jaw going tight. He walked past families hugging their children goodbye to step into the waiting mouth of the gleaming red train car. 

Sirius didn’t feel like talking just now; he found an empty compartment and swung his trunk up on the metal shelves above. He turned to sit and fiddle with his billowing robes and realized he’d been joined by a tall, dark-skinned boy staring at him from the door of the compartment. He gave Sirius the impression of an overgrown weed, all stick-like limbs with a crowning mop of unruly hair. 

“Wouldn’t sit there, mate,” the boy crossed his arms over his chest, stumbling a little when he tried to lean back against the door. He recovered as casually as he could and flashed Sirius a grin. “Mary said she saw a doxy fly under the seat. Train waits in the station all summer, you know.” 

An angry yell rang out a few doors down, and the boy pulled his lanky body to its full height at once. “Ah! Doxies it is,” he exclaimed, hurrying into the compartment to throw his trunk next to Sirius’ on the overhead shelf and sit down beside him. 

“We’re the best of friends,” the wild-haired boy said solemnly, looking into Sirius’ eyes. “Most importantly, I’ve been here for at least ten minutes.” 

“POTTER,” someone bellowed, and the stomp of footsteps down the corridor grew steadily louder as they approached. 

“Fortitude,” the boy patted Sirius’ shoulder, then ran a hand through his hair that only succeeded in messing it up further.

A boy in black robes and a neatly tucked green and silver tie was brandishing his wand, nearly shaking with fury as he glared at the boys in the compartment. His face was completely covered in unusually large, weeping pimples. His face sparked some recognition in Sirius that he couldn’t place. 

“Avery,” the boy sitting next to Sirius said coolly. “Had some trouble with the hormones, I see? Natural process, happens to us all.” 

“You little twit,” Avery snarled, raising his wand. Sirius remembered all at once; there was only one Avery currently in Slytherin. 

“You don’t want to be doing that,” Sirius’ haughty tone cut through the tension, and Avery whirled towards him. 

“Oh yeah?” Avery sneered. “Who are you, then?”

“Sirius Black,” he answered, examining a seam in his sleeve. “Heard you got suspended last year. Bit early to be stirring the pot, isn’t it?” 

“You might want to think more carefully about your choices, Black,” Avery spat. “Things won’t be so cozy for blood traitors like him soon.” Avery leered at the Potter boy, who blinked back at him, as if suppressing a yawn. 

The train whistle signaled a final warning with a deafening shriek, and Avery disappeared. 

“Black, huh?” James eyed Sirius. “Heard your family’s up to their eyeballs in the Dark Arts.” 

“Sure are,” Sirius nodded. “Evil nutters, the lot of them. Except me, of course,” he flashed James a grin. “I’m Sirius.” 

“James,” he gave Sirius a wide, friendly smile. “Of the Potters. _Eskhatos ekhthros katargeitai o thanatos_ , and all that.”

“Toujours Pur Mal,” Sirius said in a nasal voice that made James laugh appreciatively. 

The train started to move, and James stood to shuffle around in his bags. “Want a pepper imp?” He pulled out a pouch from his trunk, and chaos erupted. 

A doxy emerged from the bag of sweets, shrieking loudly. James matched the creature’s shriek in pitch and intensity, ducking on reflex. He narrowly avoided the doxy’s snapping teeth and sent it towards the door. It would have tumbled into the hall, but the boy with the secondhand robes from earlier had just appeared at the door, and the doxy crashed into him headlong. 

The boy darted his hand out and neatly grabbed the doxy’s wings between thumb and forefinger, carefully holding it away from his body so that it couldn’t bite. Another boy standing next to him, shorter and rounder, stood gaping at him. 

“Hallo,” the boy from earlier said awkwardly, the doxy in his hand struggling mightily to turn and bite, and failing. “Do you mind, if?” He gestured toward the window with the doxy. 

“Course, mate,” James said, running over to open the window. The boy neatly flung the creature out into the wind rushing past, then snapped the window shut again. 

“It ok if we sit?” the shorter boy said, hoisting his trunk into the compartment. “Only, most of the others are taken.”

“Come in,” James said, shutting the compartment door behind them. “Might be another doxy, be useful to have you around,” he eyed the boy with the worn robes. “James Potter,” he introduced himself. He looked meaningfully at Sirius. 

“Sirius. Black,” Sirius added. 

“Peter Pettigrew,” the shorter boy said, and pointed to the boy standing by the window. “This here’s Remus.” 

“Remus Lupin,” the boy who’d caught the doxy added.

“You’ve got to teach me that,” James said, sitting back down. “How’d you learn to catch doxies by the wings like that? Even my dad gets bit about half the times he finds one.” 

“My dad works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” Remus explained. “He’s taught me loads of stuff. We have to move a lot, ah,” Remus’ fingers fiddled with the already fraying cuff of his robe, “on account of the research he does, you know. And there’s always a creature or ten in the house before we clean it out.” 

“Cool,” Sirius said, and Remus smiled briefly before he looked away. 

“Yeah,” James breathed. “I bet your dad has done loads of dangerous stuff.”

“Yeah, tell them about it, Remus,” Peter chimed in. “Your dad ever seen a vampire, or sommat?” 

“I heard that’s where they deal with werewolves,” Sirius cut him off. “You reckon your dad’s seen one of them?” 

Remus blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, loads of times.” 

There was a reverent exhaled breath from all three boys at this proclamation. 

“How’d he kill ‘em?” Peter asked, wide-eyed. 

“Silver bullet,” Remus replied after a beat. “To the heart, ‘course.” 

“Wicked,” chorused James and Sirius. James offered Remus a pepper imp. 

“Spoils to the victor,” James informed him. “Thanks for saving my hide.” 

“Sure,” Remus smiled, popping one in his mouth. He went into a coughing fit as steam hissed out his ears. “Neat,” he gasped, eyes watering. 

“You’ve just got to blow it out,” James instructed. “Like this,” he popped a pepper imp into his mouth and demonstrated, huffing smoke like an angry dragon. 

Narrow London streets gave way to clusters of single family homes, and the chugging of wheels clinging to metal rails faded to a constant background rumble. The warm yellow lamp of the small compartment flickered as the train squeezed beneath an overpass. 

“Which house do you reckon you’ll get sorted into?” Peter asked the other boys. He popped an offered pepper imp in his mouth, stubbornly refusing to cough when steam whistled out his ears. 

“Gryffindor, ‘course,” James said confidently. “My mum and dad were in Gryffindor.” 

Remus shrugged. “My dad said I should be proud of whichever house I get into. They’re all good. Just different.” 

Peter stared at Sirius, who tried to avoid his gaze for a long moment. The silence stretched awkwardly between them. Sirius cleared his throat. “My whole family’s been in Slytherin, for centuries,” he shifted uncomfortably. He knew this for certain; except for the round burn marks of relatives removed from the family tapestry, he’d spent years learning each of his ancestor’s names, affiliations, deaths. He thought that other families weren’t likely to have an ancestor drowned in moonlight, strangled by her jilted lover’s bra. 

“Gryffindor’s best,” James said airily. “That’s where you go if you’re brave.” 

Peter looked at him avidly. “You reckon so?” 

“Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!” James elbowed Sirius. 

“Their daring, nerve, and chivalry set Gryffindors apart!” Sirius sung out in a gruff voice, punctuating his statement with a punch to the air. He felt a little thrill at imagining his mother’s face contorted in fury.

The countryside rolled by in a blur of gently rolling hills as the train barreled towards its destination. As the sun sank further, the line of the horizon grew to great mountains sheltering deep valleys. Night fell, and the bright beam of the headlight cut through vast swaths of unoccupied darkness. 

James chattered on about his long family line of dashing Gryffindors while Peter listened, rapt. Sirius and Remus, both nearest the window, looked out into the countryside beyond. Finally, a cluster of soft yellow lights appeared in the distance, flanked by utter darkness. 

“Ah,” James turned to peer out the window over Sirius’ shoulder. “Our castle, she awaits us.” 

Peter stood to sort his trunk, and the others followed, bouncing onto their toes like children waiting in line to get sweets. Only Remus sat back down for the remaining fifteen minutes, Peter’s head bent over him in hushed conversation. 

“What if I don’t get put in the right house?” Peter whispered miserably to Remus, as though he wasn’t overheard by every occupant of the carriage. 

“Well,” Remus shrugged. “My dad told me that no matter what there’s always the feast afterward.”

“Oh,” Peter relaxed into his seat. “That does make me feel a bit better.” 

They all stood as the train slowed, and when it had stopped they merged into a sea of black robes spilling from every open door. 

Sirius lost the others within seconds, and was struggling to see anything over the heads of the crowd sweeping him along. 

Sirius hit a wall and stumbled, hands flying out to catch himself. They caught in coarse fabric; it hadn’t been a wall at all, but an enormous man. 

“Sorry, I,” he looked up into the man’s great bushy beard and beetle-black eyes. His legs were like tree trunks, his boots the bases of pillars. Sirius shrank back, but the man hadn’t noticed. 

“Firs’ years to the boats!” the man bellowed, diverting traffic. “Down here then, thas’ right, just step in.” 

Sirius followed the man to the shore of a black lake, its surface rippling in the night. He swung himself up into the bobbing wooden boat, silently joining three other passengers who were gazing at the water. 

At Sirius’ entrance, the boat glided smoothly away from the shore and into the sweeping expanse of the lake. The black of his cloak seemed to blend with the lake, the darkness so total that Sirius could not see anything beyond the faint yellow light of the lantern at the prow of the boat. A splash sounded ahead of them, and Sirius saw the sinuous outline of a tentacle flick above the surface, then sink back below it. 

As they began to approach the rocky cliff upon which the ancient castle was perched, each stone block larger than Sirius’ entire body, he felt very small indeed. The lake seemed to stretch to either side into infinity, and the waves gave an echoing crash as they battered jagged rocks near the shore. Sirius felt his pulse speed up at the thought of what might be moving beneath their little boats, left alone for centuries to reproduce and feed on the magic surrounding them. 

“Wicked,” Sirius whispered. 

“Yeah,” the girl next to him breathed, her red hair flaming in the lantern light. 

Their boat cleverly navigated a maze of rocks and shallow waters to arrive safely on the shore, and Sirius hopped out, dusting himself off. His shoes immediately sank into the sand, and everywhere around him was the smell of fish and damp wool. 

“First years, this way!” a Scottish brogue rang out. A wand glowed brightly in the hand of a witch with a pointed tartan hat. Sirius could hardly see the ground it was so dark, and he used the bobbing red hair of the girl from his boat to pick his way to a string of torches lighting the path up the cliff. 

The woman with the tartan hat passed a wrought iron door several stories high, her wand bobbing ahead into the night. Most of the students were silently staring at their surroundings; Sirius wanted to laugh at their wide eyes and slack jaws, but found himself preoccupied by a gargoyle that had turned at his passing, as if ready to spring. 

Finally, the bobbing wand light raised and lowered, and a thick wooden door with steel reinforcements swung open, revealing a chamber beyond that spilled light onto the faces of the students surrounding him.

When they had all filed in, the woman cleared her throat and spoke. 

“You may call me Professor McGonagall,” she called out to the hushed crowd. “I am the head of Gryffindor House, one of four distinguished houses at this school.” She surveyed them with pursed lips, and apparently satisfied that she had their attention, continued. “While you are here, your house will be like your family, and Hogwarts your home. Your triumphs will earn points for your house. Any rule breaking, and you will lose points.” 

“You will be sorted into your house by tonight’s ceremony, and will come forward when your name is called. Understand? Yes? Right,” she clapped her hands together. “Please form an orderly line, and follow me.”

The Great Hall was deserving of its name; Sirius could not even see where the ceiling ended, only an enchantment of stars that consumed its flying buttresses. Four solid wood tables stretched the length of the hall, each appearing to be the cross-section of one tree larger than Sirius imagined they might grow. The older students were already seated at their tables, over which banners rippled with their corresponding house colors. 

“Aubrey, Bertram!” McGonagall called, and a boy near the front straightened his robes and strode forward. 

Sirius’ gaze lingered over the Slytherin table, where a few interested pair of eyes met his with recognition. Narcissa gave him a shrewd look, and he looked quickly away, heart pounding. A name had already been called for sorting while he hadn’t been paying attention, and he didn’t imagine many last names came before- 

“Black, Sirius!” McGonagall’s voice rang out, and Sirius looked around wildly. What had McGonagall told them to do? He stepped forward, eyes jumping over the students around him, and met Peter’s eyes. 

Peter cleared his throat a bit too loudly and inclined his head to a single stool centered between the staff and student tables, upon which perched a battered black hat. 

Sirius took a deep breath, adjusted his posture, and strode towards the stool. He imagined he could feel the stares of Narcissa and the other Slytherins burning through his robes. The tall stool was difficult to climb gracefully, but he managed as best he could, and placed the hat on his head. 

_Well, hello_ , came a disembodied voice inside his skull, and Sirius tensed. 

_I don’t want to be in Slytherin,_ Sirius blurted mentally. Then, more defiantly, _I don’t belong there. I don’t care what you think._

 _Oho!_ the hat cackled. _Don’t belong in Slytherin, eh? Ah, yes, I see- a Black. Quite like your ancestors, you are. Arrogant._

 _I won’t go_ Sirius thought, as strong as he could manage, feeling his body shake a bit with adrenaline. _Put me somewhere else._

 _I’ve seen it before, I’ll see it again,_ the hat mused. _Children trying to separate themselves from their families. Nothing will remove you from their legacy, boy. You might as well learn that now._

Sirius felt a wild impulse to pull the hat from his head, to tear it in half- what was a ragged old hat to tell him what he should learn? _I’m nothing like them! I won’t be whatever it is they want from me._

 _Can’t be,_ the hat corrected. _And more’s the pity. In any case, better get on with what I was going to say before you so rudely interrupted me. Ragged old hat, indeed._ “GRYFFINDOR!” the hat shouted. Sirius pulled the weight from his head and blinked at the return of the brightly lit hall. 

The crowd of faces at the tables stared at Sirius as he stood, a smatter of applause leading him to the Gryffindors. The clapping students looked around at their peers in confusion, who simply sat with their jaws slack. Sirius squashed the impulse to take his seat unobtrusively; instead, he strode to the head of the table and swung his legs over the bench with a twirl of his robes. 

His mind was such a blur of static that he didn’t pay attention to the names being called until “Evans, Lily!” rang out. _Mud-Muggle born,_ he thought idly at the surname. It didn’t take long for the girl to be sorted into Gryffindor, and she practically bounced over to the table with a grin. This was the girl from the boat; her red hair was impossible to ignore. 

Sirius scanned the other students for some hint of who might go next, determinedly avoiding the stares from the Slytherin table. He noticed, curiously, that a sallow-faced boy with ill-fitting black robes still waiting to be sorted was staring intently at the Gryffindor table- at the Evans girl in particular, who was already making friends with the other girls around her. The boy’s eyes met his, and, caught staring, the boy curled his lip and turned away.

“Lupin, Remus!” Sirius looked over in interest as Remus carefully took his seat. A furrow formed between his brows, as if he were arguing, but it wasn’t long before the hat sang out another “GRYFFINDOR!” Remus retained the puzzled look on his face, but walked steadily over to the table. He sat across from Sirius, giving him a hesitant smile of recognition. 

“MacDonald, Mary!” Sirius shifted in place; he was eager to get past this whole thing. He felt an energy buzzing under his skin that demanded he move. His gaze flicked to the Slytherin table, and the curtain of Lucius Malfoy’s white blond hair. 

“Pettigrew, Peter!” Peter, in his haste to sit, nearly knocked over the stool. A few of the students laughed; even McGonagall quickly ducked her head and coughed to hide a smile. Afterwards, he sat for a very long time. 

“Hatstall, you figure?” one of the older Gryffindor girls with scarlet ribbons braided through her hair leaned over to whisper to her friend. 

“Been at least five minutes so far,” the boy confirmed, his eyes glittering gold, then fading to brown with one blink. 

“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat shouted triumphantly, and Peter, who looked limp with relief, made his way over to sit by Remus and share a suffering look. 

“Potter, James!” James strode over with such theatricality that nearly all the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students laughed, a couple of encouraging shouts ringing out when James lifted the hat with a flourish. 

The hat, having barely grazed James’ hair several inches from the top of his head, shouted a decisive “GRYFFINDOR!” James hopped off the stool, placed the hat back upon it, and raised his fists in triumph. A hearty round of applause and laughter rang out from the Gryffindor table, and James grinned, dashing over to slap outstretched hands. He settled next to Sirius and clapped a hand on his back. 

“Well done,” James congratulated him, giving his shoulders a shake. 

“I hate to be outdone,” Sirius drawled. “I think we’re at a draw now-“

“Rosier, Evan!”

“But it’ll be me they’re talking about when my mother’s howler arrives in the morning,” Sirius finished. 

“Snape, Severus!” The sallow boy’s face lit in triumph when the hat announced “SLYTHERIN,” and Sirius frowned at him. Their eyes met again, Snape’s expression cool and aloof as he sat next to Rosier, who greeted him with a slight nod. Sirius was immediately reminded of his father acknowledging guests with a nod; it was the cool recognition of an ally, and he felt a wave of hatred towards it so intense that he wanted to lash out from where he sat. 

“Welcome!” a voice, magically amplified, rang out through the hall and snapped Sirius out of his reverie. Albus Dumbledore, trailing plum robes, his full beard resplendent with a woven chain dotted by glass beads, stood at the raised podium. He beamed out at the students, and the echoing chatter died down to whispers. 

“Another year, much like the others, yet one that may prove to be quite unlike those before it.” He paused meaningfully, and some of the first years looked to one another in confusion. The older students simply waited, their attention fixed on the headmaster. “I would like to remind all students,” Dumbledore continued, “that the forests west of the grounds do not appreciate wandering guests, and that any student who tickles the tentacles rising from the lake will face a most uncomfortable fate.” He peered at all of them brightly. “Ah, look at all your shining young faces waiting for me to get on with it.” He clapped his hands together. At once, there appeared a startling wealth of silver cups and plates at each seat, of elaborate trays brimming with meats, pies, and pastries. “Enjoy!”

There was a hearty outburst of applause at this proclamation, and the students began to dig in. 

“Pass me the sauce, would you?” Sirius asked. 

James reached over wordlessly, apparently focused on getting as much food into his mouth at once as was possible. 

“It’s not going to eat itself,” Peter laughed at Remus, who nodded sheepishly and picked up his silverware as if he thought it would bite, and was surprised when it didn’t. 

After turkey and potatoes, beans and pasties, a pleasant stupor set in around the table. Some of the students began trickling away as Sirius felt himself yawn. 

“First years!” a deep voice called. “First years come with me!” 

A man with a neat Gryffindor tie and hooded eyes stood at the head of the table, a brightly polished badge with a capital P affixed to his robes. 

Sirius followed James, who had been a bit quicker on the uptake. The girl with bright red hair, Evans, walked past them with a bounce in her step. The other girls followed her, chatting and giggling. James eyed them as they passed, and mouthed something to Sirius that he didn’t catch. 

Sirius had always pictured the castle as a larger, dustier version of Grimmauld Place. Dark, ancient, and if he could take his father’s word for it, perpetually filled with the sounds of dripping water and rustling chains. 

The castle entrance outside the Great Hall was brightly lit, the flames in their sconces leaping with energy. There were hundreds of portraits on every available surface of the stone walls. As he watched, a zebra made an ungainly leap and tumbled into a neighboring frame, where a visiting monk dined with Renaissance nobility. He craned his neck upward, passing over frame after gilded frame, but the ceiling was so high that he could see nothing but shadows beyond a certain point. The space was alive with the echoing chatter and laughter of students, and Sirius felt a thrill of excitement. He was here, at last. He’d made it. 

He grinned over at James, who, not needing any explanation, grinned back. 

Several gasps rang out as the stone staircase beneath them shuddered and swung. Sirius immediately grabbed for a handrail, snorting as he watched Peter’s foot lurch through a step that had simply disappeared. He watched James leap forward and catch the red headed girl around the waist as she stumbled. 

“Hi,” James smiled down at her. “I’m James.” 

“Lily,” the girl replied frostily. She twisted out of his grip, and stood tall on her own feet. Ignoring him, she turned to the small circle of girls that had gathered around her. 

James looked back at Sirius, raising his eyebrows. _What did I do?_

Sirius gave him a wince. _Better luck next time._

“That’s the Fat Lady,” James whispered, pointing at a portrait larger that the four of them together. 

“You shouldn’t call her that,” Remus frowned. 

James shrugged. “Well, that’s what she’s called. Just said she was fat, didn’t say that was a bad thing.” 

“Erumpet conjugium,” the boy with the Prefect badge said clearly, and the Fat Lady smiled at him. 

“Oh, Naveem! Welcome back.” The portrait swung open, revealing a wide entryway carved into the stone. 

The room beyond was draped in scarlet and gold, from the wall hangings to plush couches and ornate rugs. A fire blazed merrily in the hearth, which made the room itself seem to glow with a golden light. The space was circular and flanked by glass windows that were distorted with age and barred with latticed metal work. Near the back of the room, two sets of staircases led their winding way upwards. 

“Girls on the left, boys on the right,” Naveem called. “Anyone else, see me to discuss your room assignments. Trunks are in the corner,” he pointed, “let me know if you need a hover charm.” 

It was James who ascended the stairs first, picking his way through with confidence until he reached an open door with five empty beds. Sirius, Peter, and Remus followed, each choosing their beds in the order they came in. 

Remus laid out on his bed with a relieved sigh, and held the class schedule above him to read. 

“Hello, chaps!” a voice rang out from the door.

James and Sirius turned in sync while Peter emerged from his trunk and Remus put his schedule down. 

“All the others are taken,” the new boy smiled, “so it looks like we’ll be mates! Bit vulgar, isn’t it, to be putting all of us together in one room? At Eton, we would have never,” he waved a hand. “But I haven’t even introduced myself! I’m Bertram Aubrey.”

There was a pregnant silence at this pronouncement. 

“Hi Bertram,” Remus smiled. “I’m Remus. This is Peter, and James,” he pointed, “and Sirius.”

Sirius stared blankly at Bertram, who cleared his throat nervously. 

“Oh, have we already chosen beds?” Bertram frowned. “I would have quite liked to have a window.”

“Window’s right there,” James pointed. 

“So it is,” Bertram swung his heavy trunk to the foot of his bed. 

“Exploding snap, anyone?” Peter pulled a deck from his trunk and waved it aloft.

“Yes, I would quite like to learn,” Bertram moved to join Peter. “I’ve heard there’s a Wizard’s Chess club. I don’t imagine the rules would be too different.” 

“Oh, you’re a mu- a muggle,” Sirius eyed him. “I mean, you grew up muggle.” 

“What an awful word!” Bertram chuckled. “You grew up a wizard, then?” 

“Only the purest blood for the Blacks,” James waggled his eyebrows. 

“Peter and I are half,” Remus added.

“Half,” Bertram nodded. “My parents are politicians. They recently had dinner with the Duke of Westminster.” 

“Whozzat,” James asked.

“Are we going to play?” Peter hovered near the door while Bertram gaped. 

“I dunno,” Remus leaned into his pillows. “I mightn’t get up the in the morning.”

“Don’t worry,” James said cheerfully, tugging Remus upright by the sleeve of his robes. “You will.”

James set up camp near the fireplace, and they arranged themselves on a set of plush throw pillows. Peter patiently explained the rules of exploding snap to Bertram, who had buttoned himself into a cardigan with the Hogwarts crest and was frowning in concentration. 

Sirius didn’t bother listening, and neither, he realized, did James. 

“Something on your mind?” Sirius asked James, who was staring off into the common room with an absent expression on his face. 

“Hmm,” James replied, and Sirius decided it was best to leave him be. 

“Right,” Peter said, “but you’ve got to put it on the pile like this,” he demonstrated. 

Sirius hadn’t realized quite how many rules there were to exploding snap, and was considering introducing himself to a nearby group of boys playing with a buzzing snitch when he heard a shout of surprise, then a loud thump and a shriek. 

“Bertha?” Naveem stood. “What’s wrong?” 

“Some idiot boy’s tried to go up the stairs again!” she stood and shook herself off. 

Sirius spotted the problem- the stairs to the girl’s dormitory had turned into a giant slide. Several of the students stood to get a good look, whispering and laughing amongst themselves. 

“What- where did he go?” Naveem frowned. 

“I don’t know!” Bertha looked wildly around the room. “I couldn’t see him, but he slammed into me on the way down. Little creep.” Her gaze narrowed in on Sirius, Remus, and Peter. 

Naveem raised his wand with a sweeping motion over the mouth of the stairs. “Finite Incantantem.” 

Nothing happened. 

“Well, it wasn’t an invisibility spell, or a disillusionment charm,” Naveem shrugged. “The castle, you know, sometimes things-“ 

Bertha rolled her eyes at this. “Boys!” she exclaimed, and ascended the stairs, which had resumed their former function. 

“Hullo,” James said by Sirius’ ear, making him jump. “You going to deal me in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Eskhatos ekhthros katargeitai o thanatos" is plausibly the Potter family motto, and translates to "The last enemy to be conquered is death."
> 
> "Toujours Pur" is French for "Always Pure," which is the Black family motto. Sirius says "Toujours Pur Mal," which translates to "Always Pure Evil" to poke fun at his family- by now he's at least a bit aware of how his family is perceived and his experiences within it.


	4. The Howler

“WAKE UP,” a voice like nails on a chalkboard screeched, “WAKE UP NOW, YOU LAZY LOUSE.” 

James snorted awake, flailing about for the source of the noise. He squinted myopically at his nightstand, but could not make out anything beyond a jumble of socks and pepper imps. He swept the socks aside, hearing the distinctive clatter of his glasses on the tiled floor, and patted the surface. No luck. 

“YOU’RE GOING TO BE LATE, YOU TOAD.”

James heard a chorus of groans throughout the room, and hastily pulled at the drawer of his nightstand. 

The alarm clock leapt out at once, alighting on James’ chest to do a tap dance. He slammed it with his palm, and it huffed. 

“That was hardly necessary,” the alarm clock complained, but fell blissfully silent. A few birds chirped merrily outside, and James tugged on the curtains near his bed, allowing the bright late summer sunshine to stream through. 

The other boys groaned again, and James dropped to the floor on his hands and knees, patting at the tile. Wire frames clattered, and James crowed in triumph, putting his smudged glasses on his face. 

The room resolved with considerably more clarity, minus a few smudges and scratches. Sirius was peering down at him from his bed, his previously impeccably groomed hair now defying gravity. Peter was apparently still asleep, and Remus had a pillow clutched firmly over his head. 

“Greet the day,” James yawned. Sirius threw a pillow at him, which James deftly caught and tossed back, hitting Sirius square in the face. 

James stood and surveyed Peter’s bed. “Pettigrew,” he nudged the mound of his sleeping form with his toe, but Peter only snored on. This required reinforcements. 

James dropped back to the floor to pull out his trunk, aware of Sirius’ eyes following him. He snapped back the latches with ease, then felt around until his fingers caught on a crease of fabric near the back. He rapped once with his knuckles, waited a moment, then rapped twice again. A sound like a clicking of gears, then the following whoosh of a panel opening had James smiling fondly, surveying his contraband treasures. 

His fingers caressed a satchel of dungbombs; but that wouldn’t be appropriate. He had to live in this room, after all. He pulled out an iridescent metal beetle, its gleaming pincers wiggling sluggishly at James’ touch. He carried it over to Peter’s bed and slipped it beneath the covers. “Wand, wand,” he muttered, surveying the mess he’d shoved off the nightstand. “Ah.” He delicately plucked the polished mahogany from beneath one of his socks and pointed it at the beetle beneath Peter’s feet. 

“Animare,” he declared, and sat back to watch the show. Peter’s feet began to twitch. He snorted in his sleep, then began kicking, as if fending off some unseen foe. Abruptly, the kicking intensified, and Peter awoke with a yelp. 

“Get it off,” Peter shouted, standing to do a frantic little dance. He tugged his sleep pants off, revealing a bright pair of boxers covered in little images of nifflers chasing galleons. Sirius bent double with laughter, and Peter stomped over to him. 

Bertram startled awake at the shouts, and frowned as James and Sirius laughed themselves sick. 

“That’s not very funny,” Bertram said, but the others ignored him. 

“Stop it,” Peter yelped once again, but Sirius only tucked his nose further to his navel, heaving in great gasps of breath, shoulders shaking. 

“Finite Incantatem,” James muttered finally, and the iridescent beetle dropped to the floor, immobile once more. 

“Merlin’s balls,” Peter swore, stepping back from the object and eyeing it suspiciously. 

“Accio,” James said, pointing his wand at the Biting Beetle for it to zoom into his open palm. 

“Well, that’s just not fair,” Peter complained, rubbing his bum ruefully. “How is it that you know magic already?” 

James and Sirius laughed. “Oh, Petey,” Sirius answered, “it only makes sense to be familiar with the basics.” 

“But the restriction on underage magic-!” Peter exclaimed, and was drowned out by laughter again. 

“Now that we’re all awake,” James’ gaze passed coolly over Bertram and eyed Remus’ still form suspiciously, “time to freshen up, chop chop!” 

Peter and Sirius shuffled out the door to the bathroom, James giving Sirius a clap on the shoulder as he passed. Sirius startled a bit, but recovered quickly and gave him a grin. Remus remained behind, adjusting the pillow over his head to block out the sunlight. 

“Lupin,” James called, sing-song. “Do you want me to set this on you as well?” He wiggled the beetle threateningly as Remus’ baleful glare appeared from beneath his pillow. 

“I’ve already showered,” Remus muttered. 

“When?” James laughed incredulously. 

“Las’ night,” he yawned, pulling his blankets back over his shoulders. 

“Well, you’ve five minutes to brush your teeth,” James declared. 

Remus peeked at his own bedside clock, and nearly fell out of bed in his haste. 

“I did promise you’d be awake, didn’t I?” James said, and left Remus behind to struggle with his trousers. 

After a good hot shower, a few hummed bars of “Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,” and a fresh pair of underpants, James was feeling quite ready to conquer the day. 

“Transfiguration first,” Remus noted from his crosslegged position on the bed, schedule in his lap. His robes, though lacking the glossy sheen the others had, were carefully done up. 

“Excellent.” James gave his hair a final hopeful pat-down and his rumpled robes a good shake. 

Breakfast was a splendid affair, with toast soldiers, eggs, pumpkin juice, and several types of pastries glittering with sugar. They arrived just as the owls were beginning to swoop into the Great Hall. When they sat, an old, sturdy-looking grey owl dropped a letter on Remus’ hands, and nipped him affectionately with its beak. 

“Thanks, Weatherby,” Remus stroked the owl’s head, and it gave him a low hoot. “Here,” Remus fed him a scrap of toast, “I’ll have something for you to take back later, alright?” 

“Parents hover much?” James commented as Remus opened his letter. 

“I s’pose,” Remus flushed. 

“Is the owl post sanitary?” Bertram frowned at the birds stepping past toast and jam. “It seems it’s not the best method of transport for mail in crowded rooms. Surely there must be a better option.” 

“Yes, we could carry them by hand, like muggles,” Sirius mocked. 

“We don’t, I mean, muggles don’t,” Bertram started, but at that moment a large, jet-black owl swooped low over the Gryffindor table, making Bertram shrink back. 

The bird dropped a scarlet letter from its claws to land directly in front of Sirius. It did not even stop for a bite to eat before it haughtily flew away. 

“Oh,” Sirius gave the letter smoking on the table in front of him a resigned look. “How could I have forgotten?” 

The letter gave a little shiver and pursed paper lips. It began to swivel in a circle, looking for its culprit. Its sharp paper eyes seemed to bulge when they spotted Sirius, and its mouth tore open with a loud _rip_.

“SIRIUS ORION BLACK,” the letter shrieked at an ear-splitting volume that made the students sitting nearest Sirius edge away. 

“Yes, mother?” Sirius said, but the letter spoke over him. 

“UNGRATEFUL, SPOILED BRAT,” the howler continued, and what talk there was around them died down to whispers and giggles. “SHAME OF OUR LEGACY, WILLFULLY NEGLIGENT OF YOUR DUTIES. TRAITOR TO YOUR NAME AND YOUR BLOOD.” The letter paused for a moment, then gave a shriek of rage that startled Peter into overturning his glass of pumpkin juice. “YOUR ACTIONS WILL NOT GO WITHOUT REPERCUSSIONS. YOU WILL LEARN RESPECT!” This last word was uttered so shrilly that several students winced and covered their ears. But no more screams were forthcoming; the letter began to tear itself violently to pieces until finally the last shred floated down to the table. 

Sirius looked at the small pile of torn paper with a coolly detached expression. Every other student, however, had recovered from their brief collective silence and now filled the hall with noise. The Slytherin table was alight with glee. A man with white blond hair had turned in his seat to smirk at Sirius, and the others surrounding him turned and started to jeer. Peter and Remus looked pale and uncertain of how best to respond, their glances darting over to Sirius and away again. 

James stood abruptly, hopping to place his feet on the bench. This act of absurdity made the chatter die to curious whispers. The gazes that had been fixed on Sirius turned, one by one, to James Potter standing tall over the crowd of students. With the crowd’s attention fixed, James raised his hands and clapped. Once, twice, again, loud slaps of skin echoing through the hall. 

Some of the students chuckled uncertainly; most watched James as if he’d gone mad. 

“Come up here!” he tugged the shoulder of Sirius’ robes. He reached down and yanked Sirius’ hand until he too stood upon the bench, looking uncertain at the attention but standing tall all the same. 

James raised Sirius’ hand, still clasped in his own, above their heads. “Blood traitor!” James bellowed. “Let’s give it up for my mate Sirius!” 

Shouts of laughter rang out at the Gryffindor table, and several of the students whooped and clapped. The other houses joined in; there was even a girl at the Slytherin table with cropped black hair who applauded enthusiastically. 

James let go of Sirius’ hand to join the applause. Sirius, grinning broadly, took a bow. 

McGonagall, lips pinched in contained amusement, came to the head of her house table and flapped her hands. “Alright, that’s enough!” she shouted. “That’s quite enough, return to your seats!” 

Sirius’ dark eyes darted to James’, and they hopped down from the bench in tandem. Sirius surveyed the scowls and turned backs of the Slytherins, and hummed merrily as he spooned eggs onto his toast. 

*

The Transfiguration classroom was a broad, square room, the ceiling stretching far above James’ head. Cages of every size and description flanked the walls; small fluttering songbirds, a monkey that launched itself at the bars of its cage just as Bertram walked past. 

Naturally, this gave James the opportunity to re-enact Bertram’s shriek of terror several times, entertaining the other Gryffindors. Except for one, who shot James a glare that could kill as she helped Bertram, whose face was nearly as red as her hair, retrieve his books from the floor. 

“Hello,” James smiled at her. “Evans, right?” 

She ignored him, going so far as to turn in the opposite direction as she brought Bertram’s books to his desk. 

James snorted at this treatment, and sat next to Sirius. “Some people don’t appreciate a good joke,” he complained. 

“Rotten luck,” Sirius agreed. “Where do you think McGonagall went? Thought she was supposed to have a broomstick up her-” 

The cat that had been delicately cleaning its paws on the Professor’s desk turned sharply at these words. James had the uncomfortable feeling that it was watching him. 

“I dunno,” James whispered, but he stopped there. The cat had raised its eyebrows at him, then morphed in an instant into a bespectacled woman with tartan robes. 

“Bugger,” Sirius commented while James gaped. 

“Five points from Gryffindor for profanity, Mr. Black,” Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. “I would appreciate it if you exercised your common sense in the future. I do hate to lose the house cup.” 

“Yes ma’am,” James sat up. 

McGonagall frowned at him. She flicked her wand, and the glass doors of a heavy cabinet swung open to release a capped bell jar that zoomed into her waiting hand. She tapped her wand on the lid of the jar, and it spun neatly to unscrew itself. A tendril of the plant inside poked outward, as if testing the air.

“Transfiguration spells are some of the most dangerous you will learn,” the Professor addressed her class, which she had commanded the full attention of since she had leapt into the air as a cat and landed on two human feet. The plant in her hand had begun to sneak slowly out of the jar, as if its tendrils were delicate, curled limbs. 

“I will not tolerate messing around in my classroom,” she stared pointedly at James and Sirius. “Without control and caution,” she swept her gaze over the classroom, “even those who have been studying transfiguration for decades can be taken off guard.” She poked the tendril grasping toward her wand, and immediately it grew thick and strong, strangling the wand in a chokehold even as it grew bristling thorns. 

“Professor Lichen found this plant on the castle grounds this summer attempting to strangle her owl,” Professor McGonagall announced to the room, which had flinched backward at the vine’s sudden transformation. “It is perhaps the best example I can give you of transfiguration in its natural state- volatile.” She let the word hang on the air. 

“Today we will be turning matches into needles,” she announced. “And my expectation is that each of you will pay very close attention.”

The Gryffindors soon found that turning a match into a needle was a slow and frustrating business. That is, except for Sirius Black, who turned his match into a passable silver needle on his second try. McGonagall frowned at him as if she wanted to say something, but chose not to.

*

“This is more what I imagined,” Sirius said as they turned yet another corner in the dungeons, flickering sconces lighting their way at midday. 

“Wassat?” James squinted into the darkness ahead. 

“Hogwarts. Expected it to be more, dungeons. And ghosts.” 

“Can’t all be underground,” James said reasonably. “Ah, there it is.” 

The heavy door with “POTIONS” carved into the wood was propped open to display the cavernous stone room beyond, lit by large blazing sconces. 

“Come in, come in,” a voice rang out from within. “Bit difficult to find if you don’t already know the way, isn’t it?” 

The potions professor appeared in the doorway. When he smiled, it gave James the impression of the stout, baggy snout of a bulldog. 

“Oh, Mr. Potter! And Mr. Black,” the Professor greeted. “And the rest of your house, there they are,” he addressed the Gryffindors trailing behind them. “Come in, take your seats.” 

The desks to the left of the classroom had been claimed by a mass of first years in emerald and silver ties. James slid into the first desk on the right. 

“I am Professor Slughorn,” the man stood behind a large stone desk at the front of the classroom. Behind him, the contents of hundreds of glass jars packed deep into recessed shelves flickered in the wavering light. Many of the labels had small skull and crossbones inked onto them. 

“Potions is a difficult discipline,” Professor Slughorn gave them all an odd, squashed smile. “It is regrettable that not every individual has an aptitude for the art, and very few continue to become a Potions Master. One slip of the wrist, and instead of the Draught of Living Death you have, well,” he chuckled, “death! Therefore, I must urge you all to follow the instructions carefully, as I cannot see every ill-advised choice you make. I have gone nearly a year now without sending a student to the infirmary, and I will be quite annoyed if you break my record!” He smiled again. The class was silent. 

“Don’t worry,” he waved a hand. “Today’s potion is very simple, just to give you a taste, if you’ll pardon my little joke, of what’s to come. Please open your books to page five for instructions. You may come to the front for your asphodel.” 

Lily raised her hand, and Slughorn blinked at her. “Yes, Miss, er…” 

“Lily Evans,” she introduced. “What potion are we making today, sir?” 

James noticed with shock that Lily had chosen to sit at the only vacant chair on the other side of the room, and was sharing a cauldron with a hook-nosed Slytherin boy. 

“It is a surprise, Miss Ebans!” Slughorn clapped his hands together. “Wait to sample your potion until after I check your cauldrons, please.” 

James set up his and Sirius’ shared cauldron to simmer, and put out an arm to stop Sirius from going to the front. 

“I’ll do it,” he said, watching Lily walk to Slughorn’s desk. 

James pushed his way in front of Bertram to stand beside Lily in line. “Hey,” James said to her. He tapped her shoulder. “We’ve still got seats at the Gryffindor tables. There’s one next to mine, if you want.” 

Lily sighed, and turned to face him. “It’s funny, I thought they were just tables,” she said. “Didn’t see they’d been marked.” 

“Come off it,” James frowned. “You know that’s the Slytherin side. Why’d you sit over there?” 

“You know what,” Lily’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Potter, right?” 

James nodded. 

“I don’t know,” Lily continued, “why you think you can tell me where to sit, but,” she stepped closer to him until they were nearly nose to nose. “You can shove off. I think you’re a bully, and I’d rather sit next to Sev than you any day.” 

James opened his mouth to retort, but Lily was next in line for her asphodel and had started to chat pleasantly with Professor Slughorn about looking forward to the surprise. 

James returned to his desk and crushed the asphodel sullenly, squinting to get a good look at the hook nosed tosser Lily was currently laughing with as he whispered something in her ear. 

“Bit greasy, isn’t he?” James inclined his head when Sirius looked up from their cauldron. 

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed, studying James’ thundercloud expression before looking over at the Slytherin boy. “Look at how he keeps sniffing over his cauldron. Guess that’s what happens when you’ve got a nose that size. Wonder if his snot’ll mess it up.” 

James laughed. “Yeah,” he brightened. “Snivelly bastard.” 

“Can you de-stem the monkshood?” Sirius asked. “We’ve got to crush it into a powder.” 

“Yeah, alright,” James dusted out the mortar and pestle. “How much-“ 

“Professor!” Peter’s panicked squeak carried over Slughorn’s conversation with a small cluster of Slytherins. “Professor- help!” 

James turned to see Remus gasping for breath, his lips tinged blue. He bent over as if he might vomit. 

Slughorn hurried over at once, and stared at Remus in dismay. “I don’t understand,” he looked frantically over their workbench as Remus wheezed for breath. “Did he ingest anything?” 

“No!” Peter protested. “Remus was crushing the ingredients, and then he sort of, sneezed, and-“ 

Slughorn looked into the small stone mortar bowl. “Remus Lupin?” he asked, and Remus nodded frantically. “Oh, dear Merlin, child! I would’ve thought you’d have known better than to aspirate powdered monkshood!” He hurried off to one of his cabinets, uncorked a vial with a corked stopper, and ran back to tip the potion over Remus’ blue-tinged lips. 

At once, Remus began to gasp back in air, leaning over he gulped audibly. Slughorn looked around the room, noticing he had an audience. 

“Happens every year!” he smiled broadly, eyes pinched. “There’s always one or two with an allergy. You, Mister, ah, Petticoat,” Slughorn patted Peter on the shoulder. “Take him to the hospital wing, there’s a good lad. Madame Pomfrey will want to monitor him for a bit. First floor down the corridor to your right as you exit the dungeons.” 

James added three grains of ground monkshood, and stirred until the potion turned neon green. Sirius added a cup of gillywater, and James found himself staring again at Lily Evans, who was whispering with the hook-nosed boy again as they read through a page near the back of the textbook. James scowled. 

“Perfect!” Slughorn declared, and James snapped back to his desk. “Whenever you’re ready boys, you can be the first to drink up,” Slughorn winked. 

James held out his hand, curled into an O on his palm. Sirius mirrored him. 

“Cauldron, snake, dragon,” Sirius hissed, and James flapped his thumb and pinky finger like a dragon’s wings. Sirius, who was wiggling his hand like a snake, smiled. 

“Best two out of three,” James wheedled, but Sirius shook his head. 

“Bottoms up, mate,” Sirius said, fishing a goblet through the potion and handing it to James. 

James grumbled, but downed the goblet in one gulp. 

“How do you feel?” Sirius asked, eyeing him. 

“Normal,” James frowned, looking down at himself. Suddenly, he was flung into the air with a loud yelp, his legs kicking frantically at nothing. Then he fell back onto his arse with a resounding thud. 

“Ow,” James said weakly. 

“Remarkable aptitude, Miss Evans!” Slughorn exclaimed to Lily, who had gently floated to hover midair. “You reduced the monkshood?” 

Lily landed gracefully on both feet and beamed. “It was Severus who recognized the potion as a simpler variant of the Hover Draught,” she said, “and I thought the changes you’d made with the ingredients ratios might be for dramatic effect. So, we decided to reduce the monkshood to two grains.” 

“An entrepreneurial risk indeed!” Slughorn clapped her on the shoulder. “Five points for the bold Gryffindor, and five for the shrewd Slytherin.” 

Severus smirked and James, rubbing his arse, felt a hot wave of- something. 

“Sirius,” he said idly. “What is this feeling I’m feeling right now?” 

“Loathing, I think,” Sirius looked over at Severus with disgust. “Had to try to show everyone up on the first day of class, didn’t he? Swotty Slytherin.” 

James packed up his things slowly, waiting until Lily had left the room to confront Snape, who wiped his large running nose on the sleeve of his robe. 

“Hey Snivellus,” James said under his breath, and Severus stiffened. 

“Potter,” Severus said coolly. “I saw you watching us. I’d say you were looking a bit- jealous,” he pulled his lips back from his teeth. 

“You stay away from Lily,” James warned, fist clenched around his wand. 

“Or what?” Severus raised an eyebrow. Then he swept out of the room, robes trailing behind him, and caught up to walk beside Lily. 

Sirius appeared at James’ shoulder. “He’s got it coming to him, don’t you reckon?” 

“Great minds think alike,” James said absently, still watching Lily. 

“Mm. So do we,” Sirius mused, and dodged an elbow from James. 

*

By their final period, James was antsy to get out into the sunshine beyond the windows of the castle and onto a broom. He was so eager to burst through the door that he nearly toppled Remus, who was jogging to catch up with the class. 

“Whoops,” James grabbed him to pull him back upright, “sorry, mate. Good to see you’re still breathing.” 

“Yeah,” Remus laughed nervously. “I’ve got a mask, now, if I’m to be around it again.” He pulled out a reinforced medical mask from the pocket of his robes just in time for Sirius to join them. 

“Oh, that is _fetching_ ,” Sirius grabbed for the mask. “James, darling,” he placed the mask on his nose, fluttering his eyelashes, “do you still think I’m pretty?”

Remus made a futile grab for the mask, then paused suddenly to squint into the sunlight streaming through the open door. “Hey,” he pointed, “is that Peter flying?” 

“What?” Sirius and James chorused, looking around, and Remus snatched the mask back and ran out into the grounds. 

“Well,” Sirius said to James. 

“Yes,” James agreed. “We’re idiots.” He seemed to recover quickly, though, a broad grin breaking over this face. “Flying!” he crowed, and took off across the grounds, arms outstretched like a bird. 

Peter took the longest of all the Gryffindors to command his broom to jump up into his hand. James and Sirius had theirs immediately, and flew in circles while Madame Hooch tried to help Peter mount his broom, which kept determinedly rolling him off. 

Remus managed to hover a few feet off the ground, grey-faced and chanting “not natural, not natural,” to himself while James and Sirius took turns swooping within a hair’s breadth of his head, laughing with delight as they gained greater and greater speeds. 

They were distracted only by the fact that Peter had made his way into the air, and with Madame Hooch’s attention now elsewhere they chucked a knut at Peter so that, avoiding it, he would roll right off his broom. They swooped to be the first to catch the knut before it hit the ground, then started the game again. 

“Wish we were able to do some real flying,” James complained. 

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed, “with some proper brooms. These’ve hardly got any charms left in ‘em.”

“Could get some decent ones in the Quidditch locker rooms,” James mused, shifting his bag on his shoulders. “You going to go for tryouts next week? Sirius?” 

Sirius was staring at a massive figure approaching from the grounds, a man with the wide trunk of a tree hoisted over his shoulder. “Yeah, sure,” he said absently. “That’s the gamekeeper, right? What do you reckon he is?” 

“Oh, I’ve heard he’s half giant,” James followed Sirius’ stare. 

“Giant!” Sirius said. “I haven’t heard of any half giants before. How do you think that works?” 

“Dunno,” James shrugged. “Woman giant, maybe?” 

Sirius sniggered. “I’ve heard they’re sort of dumb,” he said, dropping his voice too late as the man approached. “Bit filthy, too. Eat animals raw, that sort of thing. Do you think-“

“Shh,” James hissed as the gamekeeper passed them. They both watched him go. “You reckon he heard you?” 

“Nah,” Sirius said breezily. “You going to try and get some practice before tryouts? Figure it’s important to look good for next year, even if they won’t let us in.” 

“Yeah, sure I will,” James felt his earlier restlessness dropping away. “Think we can use the pitch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! if you're reading, I'm looking for feedback on why this particular fic has gained p much zero interest compared to other things I've written. unsure if the new author name or the fact that it's gen has something to do with it? Could be the pacing; re-reading it, I've decided it's not terribly engaging. I've really enjoyed writing gen, but if there's no interest I will probably go back to writing genre angst which is also totally fun. Anyway, I'm honestly curious!


	5. The Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter for pacing today!

Remus burned with embarrassment as watched the gamekeeper stiffen in response to Sirius’ speculation. It had carried over the grounds so that even Remus, a few meters behind Sirius as he walked shakily back to the school, could hear it. After Sirius and James had passed, he watched the groundskeeper pause in the shade of an alcove, setting the tree down at his feet with a loud thud. He slumped against the wall and fiddled with the bark, breaking off great chunks of it with his nails. 

“Hello,” Remus approached him. “Um. Nice weather today, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” the man smiled glumly, and a piece of bark the size of Remus’ head snapped off with a crack. 

“Do you need any help, with that?” Remus asked. 

“No,” the man sighed. “Jus’ thought it might get cold at night. Might need some wood for the fires, and all.” 

“That’s nice of you,” Remus said. 

“Well,” the man shifted. “Trying to do my job as best I can. Even if I’m not so smart as you kids.” 

“Oh,” Remus replied. “I’m sorry, about my friend. He shouldn’t have said that.” 

The man sighed again. “He probably weren’t raised to know any better,” he acknowledged. “Well, I’ve got to head back and check on the bowtruckles.”

“You’ve got bowtruckles?” Remus perked up. “I’ve always wanted to see one.” 

“Yeah, their arms and legs are so thin, you see,” the man demonstrated with one finger the width of a sausage. “Means they get broken easily. So I bind ‘em up. You know much about bowtruckles?” 

“A bit,” Remus said. “My dad works with them. Magical creatures, that is.”

“Oh, he does?” the man genuinely brightened at this. “Best part of my job, have to say. What’s his name, your dad?” 

“Lyall Lupin,” Remus said, and Hagrid’s eyes widened. 

“Lupin, eh?” Hagrid scanned him. “And you’ll be the, er- Remus, then?” 

“Yes,” Remus said warily. 

“Have to say,” the man raised his eyebrows. “Thought you’d be different! Bit bigger, p’raps.”

Remus stood quietly, unsure of what to say next. He started to wish he’d never had this conversation, that he’d just followed James and Sirius inside. 

“You seen the Willow yet?” the man asked conversationally. “It’s really something, that is.” 

“Yes,” Remus nodded. “Madame Pomfrey showed me.” 

“Right, course she did. Well. You want to come see the bowtruckles, then?” 

“Yeah! Sure, I’d like to,” Remus said at once. “Are you done with, er,” Remus gestured to the tree Hagrid had deposited against the castle.

“Oh, they’ll come chop it up,” the man waved a hand. “Just had to get it here.”

Remus jogged to match every step of the man’s. They approached a ramshackle bridge over a wide ravine, which the man walked down with nonchalance as it groaned at his weight. “Sorry,” Remus trailed behind the man, “but what’s your name?” 

The man paused at the end of the bridge and turned, keeping Remus on it as a wind blew down the ravine and shook the structure. “Blimey, that was rude of me, wasn’t it? Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts,” he drew himself up importantly. 

“Mr. Hagrid,” Remus started, but Hagrid waved him off.

“Just Hagrid, that’ll be fine,” he chuckled. 

“Hagrid,” Remus stepped once again onto firm, rocky ground. “How far are we going?” He wondered, privately, whether he should have agreed to come in his excitement. He did have six inches of parchment to cover, though at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to think of doing it. 

“Oh, jus’ around this corner,” Hagrid pointed. “That’s mine, over there.” 

Hagrid’s hut was a round structure with a tiled wood roof on the edge of the grounds, only feet away from the forests beyond. Hagrid left the door open while they were inside to let in the evening air, and Remus realized he’d missed the sounds of the birds and the whisper of wind through the grass. 

“’S not much,” Hagrid said self-consciously as they entered, pausing to throw a handful of crickets into a tank with a chameleon that turned violet, then disappeared.

“I think it’s brilliant,” Remus said. He sat in a large chair covered with wiry fur. “You get to be out here, with all these creatures.” 

“Well,” Hagrid flushed. “It’s somethin’. Here, let me teach yer how ter do the splints,” he drew down a silvery line of unicorn hair from where it hung above a broad table. “They’ve got these little limbs, see,” he gently cradled one in his large palm. “Makes it easy ter break ‘em.”

“Hagrid?” 

“Hmm?” Hagrid tied off another silvery thread. 

“How’d you get this job?” 

Hagrid went quiet for a moment, and Remus was just about to backtrack when he spoke. “It’s not something I like ter talk about,” he admitted. “But the short of it is, Dumbledore gave it to me.” 

“Oh,” Remus reflected. “I was just thinking, it seems nice.” 

“You think so?” Hagrid regarded him as if he’d never heard this before.

“Yeah,” Remus peered at the bowtruckle that had sat up on the table and was walking about, splint-free. “It seems peaceful. Being out here, by yourself.” 

“Hmm,” Hagrid turned to look at him. “Trouble fitting in?” 

“I don’t know,” Remus hedged. “It just feels like I’m lying. That if they really knew, what I was, they wouldn’t- but they can’t know, anyway. Suppose it doesn’t matter.” 

“Well,” Hagrid thought about this for a moment as he returned the silvery threads to a hook hanging from the ceiling. “People think they’re owed the whole truth of your life, but sometimes they aren’t. Sometimes they have to earn it. Doesn’t make who you are to them a lie.” 

“Maybe,” Remus allowed, staring at his shoes. 

“Well,” Hagrid looked away, self-conscious. “Nib’s recovered,” Hagrid held out a hand for the tiny bowtruckle and carefully cradled it in his palm. “Want ter bring ‘im home with me?” 

Remus looked up. “Ok.” 

Passing over the edge of the forest felt like entering another world, like passing through the barrier to Platform 9¾. Once inside, the thick canopy overhead blotted out the bright rays of the evening sun. The hush at the outskirts of the forest gave way to the chatter of birds, the creaking of trees and babble of streams. Each tree root was as large as Remus’ body, the trunks taller than any of Hogwarts’ spires. Remus had an odd urge to lay his palm on the bark of the trees, to feel the life within that seemed to glow with a phosphorescent light. 

Occasionally, small animals scurried underfoot or loped away from them, too fast for Remus to make them out. It seemed he was constantly hearing the presence of creatures just out of reach. 

The forest only became wilder as they ventured deeper. At one point, he and Hagrid both walked beneath a root that had risen like a triangular roof and buried itself back down into the soil. It would be fearsome, the alien energy of it, but instead it felt peaceful. Remus felt that if he simply sat here for a few hours, he might discover something wonderful. 

“Here’s our stop,” Hagrid said, pausing in front of a tree that looked just like all the others. “Hawthorn.” 

“Wand wood,” Remus said, remembering what his dad had told him. Bowtruckles protected wand trees. 

“Yeah,” Hagrid chuckled. “That is how you would think of it, wouldn’t you?” He raised his hand high to the tree as the bowtruckle clambered to the tips of his fingers. “Alright, go on,” Hagrid encouraged the bowtruckle. 

A tendril emerged from the bark of the tree, reaching out to wrap itself around the bowtruckle, and Remus felt a stab of panic as he remembered the plant that had wrapped itself around Professor McGonagall’s wand as if trying to strangle it. 

Remus pulled his wand from his robes and pointed it at the bowtruckle, thinking furiously of what he might do to save it. 

“Oy,” Hagrid knocked Remus’ arm down. “Put that away, now.” 

The tendril had gently wrapped itself around the bowtruckle like a seat beat and was bearing it upwards into the branches of the tree. 

“I thought,” Remus put his wand away, feeling foolish. “In class, that plant was vicious.” 

“It wouldn’t hurt Nib,” Hagrid looked up into the branches. “He belongs here, see?” 

“Right,” Remus said softly. 

“Let’s get you back up to the castle,” Hagrid clapped a hand on Remus’ shoulder. “Before the sun sets.”


	6. Humongous Bighead

“Wicked!” James exclaimed, elbowing Sirius to point out the dragon skeleton suspended from the ceiling. 

“Nice,” Sirius agreed. 

“Oh, I think it’s a Welsh Green,” Remus pointed at the skeleton. “Look, you can see from the triangular fan at the tip of it’s tail.” 

“Swot,” James said, but he slapped Remus upside the head playfully. 

“Yeah, pretty cool, isn’t it?” Peter said, moving to stand beside James. 

James looked at him blankly for a moment, then turned to Sirius. “Hey mate, how about over there?” he pointed to a desk. 

Peter sighed and glanced around the room. Bertram was eyeing him hopefully, and Peter looked away. He met the eyes of a Slytherin girl, who gave him a frank look of distaste.

“They just don’t appreciate the flag of our country,” Remus said mournfully, and Peter felt a surge of hope. “Gwlad! Pleidiol wyf I’m gwad! Ie?”

“Ie,” Peter smiled. “Saeson,” he rolled his eyes. 

Their Professor descended from the office at the top of a small, curving staircase leading to a door at the top of the room’s pitched roof. She had an armful of scrolls in her hands, which she deposited on her desk in front of the class, and looked up to give them a smile. Her hair was pleated in a braid just past her shoulders, and she wore a round sort of glasses that had been out of fashion a decade or so. 

“Hello first-years,” her voice seemed to echo about the room as she spoke. “I am Professor Goldberg, and I will be teaching you to defend yourself against the dark arts. At the end of this year, you will know how to repel an attacker with jinxes,” Peter could see James sit up straighter in his chair at this, “and understand more about vampires, inferi, and other potentially dangerous creatures.” 

“You should be able to do the simple wand-lighting and wand-extinguishing charms, lumos and nox, by the end of today’s class,” she said, and the room straightened up in their seats. It was much more interesting to practice spells than to read from the pages of their textbooks, or to listen to Professor Binn’s droning voice. 

“Practice the incantation without your wands: loo-mos. Yes, very good. Is there anything else we might need to be successful? Ah, Mr. Aubrey?” 

“Yes, Professor,” Bertram replied, his posture straight. It looked as if his robes had been ironed into place. “Customarily, a precise wand movement corresponds to the incantation.” Peter noticed that he was sitting next to Lily, the pretty and intimidating girl with the red hair. 

“Five points to Gryffindor,” Professor Goldberg nodded. “The movement is this,” she demonstrated, “you can think of it as moving through a loop. Ah- Mr. Parkinson, more of a fluid motion, if you will. What else do we need?”

The class sat silently, dodging the Professor’s gaze as she looked about the room. “Unlike some of your other classes, most of the spells you will learn in Defense Against the Dark Arts require a particular _will_ behind them. 

“For example, if you cast a hex on someone to shrink their head,” Peter saw James look thoughtfully at Bertram and lean over to whisper to Sirius, who laughed. “You must have ill will directed towards that person. Can anyone guess what we might need for wand-lighting spell?” 

Peter heard a rustle of fabric as Remus raised his hand next to him. 

“Maybe, whatever you associate with light,” Remus said hurriedly. “Like the sun, and warmth. To focus on that feeling.” 

“Exactly right,” she smiled at him. “And for nox,” she demonstrated the movement, “perhaps a moonless night, and a cool breeze.” Professor Goldberg held her wand aloft. “One, two, three, Lumos!” 

The room flared with the sudden light of so many wands, bright-white and brilliant. Peter saw a Slytherin boy with thick, dark eyebrows covertly whisper the spell again, and flush when it was immediately obvious that a tardy burst of light had joined the others. 

_Loo-mos,_ Peter thought fervently. Was lumos the loop or the wave motion? 

Peter followed her repeated motion, thought fervently of light. He hid his wand beneath the arm of his robes, panicking at the thought of being the only student to fail such a simple charm while James and Sirius laughed and whispered. To his relief, it lit. 

Then, it began to smoke. 

“Aguamenti!” the Professor pointed at Peter’s wand before he could fully process that his wand had caught fire. He looked at it in horror; the tip was still smoking. 

“Oh dear,” the Professor hurried to his desk, and picked up his wand to inspect it. “It’s happened before, will happen again,” she peered at the tip, “but don’t worry, dear, it’s just a tad singed,” she handed the wand back to Peter. “Try again- with a bit less force this time. Control, that’s the key.” 

“Um,” Peter felt as if he could sink through the floor- or as if he hoped he could. “Maybe I should give it a break. For a bit.” 

Professor Goldberg shook her head decisively, “Back up on the horse, as my father used to say.” Several of the Slytherins looked at each other at this; they had likely already guessed that she was muggleborn, but this had confirmed it. 

“L-lumos,” Peter stuttered, and his wand lit with a light so faint that the Professor squinted to see it. 

“Very good,” she returned to the front of the class, and Peter’s light, once feeble, flickered out. Sirius snickered, noticing immediately; Peter tried to pretend he hadn’t heard. 

“Now, everyone,” Professor Goldberg instructed, “nox!” 

*

That afternoon was an introduction to charms, in which Peter learned the unlocking spell, which he thought to be quite useful. He’d been enjoying himself until he heard Sirius whisper “soft subject” behind him, then proceed whisper James during the entire class. Peter had to lean forward to hear Professor Flitwick below where he perched on a stack of books explaining in a reedy voice why alohomora failed on certain charmed locks. 

Just as the bell rang, Peter heard Sirius whisper “Engorgio Skullus.” A high-pitched shriek followed, and Peter could hear Sirius and James wheezing quietly with laughter behind him. 

Bertram’s head had grown three times its normal size, so large that when he attempted to flee through the doorway in terror he bounced backward like an overinflated balloon. At this, James lost it and let out a bark of laughter. 

“Who cast that hex?” Professor Flitwick squeaked with outrage. He levitated to peer at Peter, but Peter looked away. 

In any case, Flitwick noticed Sirius and James’ bright red faces struggling to hold back tears of mirth, and announced they had double detention. Neither James nor Sirius seemed particularly concerned with this as they waited for Flitwick’s rant to end. 

Peter, horribly, felt a sense of relief. At least it hadn’t been him.

*

“I cannot stand it any longer,” Bertram announced several hours later, propped up on all of his pillows. “This has gone too far. I am demanding to be reassigned at once,” he said, though it sounded more like “ab unce” due to the fact that his head was still in the process of shrinking back to its former size. 

Remus, Peter noticed, was sitting quietly on the bed with his textbook. He hadn’t talked to either Bertram or James and Sirius, and Peter was pretty sure he’d only pretended not to hear Sirius invite him to come to the common room earlier. 

“Yeah, might be best,” Peter said vaguely to Bertram, then walked over to Remus’ bed. 

“Remus?” Peter said, then tapped his foot. “Hey, Remus?” 

“Yes, Peter?” Remus looked up, smiling vaguely. 

“Can you help me get in with James and Sirius?” 

Remus looked intensely uncomfortable at this. “Peter,” he started, and Peter hated to hear the pity in his voice. 

“Yeah,” Peter sighed, looking at Bertram, who was clutching at his head. “Nevermind. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Of course,” Remus said unconvincingly, not looking up from his book. 

Peter decided he couldn’t look at Bertram any longer, and decided to find food in the entrance to the kitchens a girl named Lara from Hufflepuff had shown him. He’d had a tendency of wandering the halls looking pitiful recently; he supposed she’d felt badly for him. 

After a glass of milk and a couple of biscuits, courtesy of Lumlie, a motherly and fierce house elf, Peter felt marginally more cheerful.

"Lumlie thinks Master Peter should give his friends a gift," the house elf commented, helping herself to a biscuit. 

"They'll just think I'm desperate," he said glumly, flicking a crumb from his robes. "I've got to do something really ace."

"Lumlie thinks these boys do not sound like good friends for Master Peter," she frowned. "Maybe Master Peter should find new friends."

"'S not that simple," Peter pressed his head to the edge of the table. "If I just didn't cock up every word that came out of my mouth-"

Lumlie patted his shoulder, and hopped off the bench. "Master Peter is not the first boy to feel this way, his first year at Hogwarts. He will find a way to make good friends." She bustled off with the other elves, and Peter sat alone in the dimly lit chamber. 

Eventually, Peter decided that he did not want to return to the Gryffindor dormitories, or to wander the Hufflepuff hallways again, and that he might as well follow after where the house-elves had gone. 

He was soon glad that he had learned the wand-lighting spell, for the tunnels were too dark to see even his own feet, and the sconces lighting the way infrequent. 

He had the sense that he was ascending, and dirt tunnels became walls and floors of heavy stone blocks. Was he in the walls of the castle itself, he wondered? 

After about an hour, he began to worry he was lost. He hadn't seen another person, human or house elf, for quite some time. Just how many tunnels could there be in castle this size? 

Peter ran, sweating and stumbling, through a passageway that seemed as if it were going down to where he had entered the tunnels, but it inevitably rose again, carrying him upwards to a dead end.

"Hello?" Peter called, his voice quavering. The sound echoed through the tunnels, but no one answered him. He stood silently in the dark, eyes darting around the flickering shadows his wand cast. Who knew what might be living in these walls, after so many years of ghosts and doxies and bogarts?

Peter heard a low murmur of noise, and moved cautiously towards it. "Hello?" he whispered, almost a squeak. 

"We need to learn more about his movements," a low voice said, and Peter nearly jumped. It sounded as if the voice came from the other side of the wall. A low, thin shaft of light pierced the tunnel through a crack in the stone, and Peter crouched down to peer through it. 

"I might try ter bring the Gurg another gift," a deep, booming voice answered. Peter could see little through the hole and the glass cabinet that obscured it, but he immediately recognized the groundskeeper's voice.

"Perhaps," the other voice said, distinctly familiar. There was the scrape of a chair across the floor, and an odd, high tinkle of glass. 

"It'll likely sort itself out," the groundskeeper said. "They like ter fight."

"I'm afraid that whatever quarrels they have with one another because of this might be the least of our concerns," the other man said, and Peter heard that tinkle of glass again. At once, he remembered a glint of glass in a long silver beard from across the Great Hall, and a soft voice. 

This was Headmaster Dumbledore's office. 

"He's a cunning one, I'll give him that," the groundskeeper said. "But he's gotten in over his head, and he'll find it out soon enough."

"He does think very well of himself," the headmaster commented. "I've heard from a reliable source that he's taken to calling himself a lord."

"Of what?" the groundskeeper scoffed.

A _crack_ of displaced air behind him made Peter jump, and he whirled to find a small, unusually hairy house elf frowning at him.

"Students should not be wandering around out of bed," a squeaky voice informed him. 

"You found me!" Peter stuttered. "Thank you! I've been wandering, for hours-"

"How did a student get so far lost?" the house elf narrowed her eyes. 

"I was just," Peter kept his voice low, "I went to see Lumlie, and I-"

At once, a dramatic change came over the elf, her expression softening. "Master Peter is very foolish to have wandered this far," she poked him in the chest, "and he mustn't do it again." 

Peter shook his head vigorously, and the elf seemed to accept this as they disapparated, and Peter fell with a bounce onto his bed, surrounded by three snoring roommates. Bertram’s bed was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welsh: Gwlad! Pleidiol wyf I’m gwad!= Land! I am true to my land! (a particularly rousing chorus bit of the welsh anthem)
> 
> Ie= Yes (but only rarely does Ie mean yes. welsh is bloody complicated)
> 
> Saeson= Englishmen


	7. An Ominous Tiara

James pushed the Shooting Star to its limits, darting through the naked skeleton of one of the quidditch pitch’s towers with a whoop. 

It was answered by Sirius who, red-faced and grinning madly, tossed a beleaguered quaffle his way. When James caught it, one of the tattered leather seams split down the side. He hung upside-down for the sheer joy of it, arms and legs clasped tightly to the handle as the blood rushed to his head.

They’d managed to borrow old brooms from the quidditch lockers, which had been opened for the tryouts. The nicer brooms were tethered by a series of complex spells; James had to be tugged away with a whispered "be back, beautiful,” to a lovingly polished Cleansweep Six.

Still, James thought as he flew in a straight line down the length of the pitch, his brain singing as air whistled past his ears, this wasn’t half-bad. 

“Oi,” a voice called from the pitch, magnified many times its usual volume. “Clear the air, first years.” 

The woman was standing with one hip cocked and the other resting against a well-maintained Comet 220. Her arched eyebrows stood out in sharp relief on her face, which was wrapped in a plain black headscarf. 

“We’re here to try out,” James shouted as loud as his lungs could manage. 

“Jon,” she tossed a quaffle to a man next to her. He was nearly as wide as he was tall, and perhaps larger than James and Sirius put together. 

“Yes, Captain,” Jon responded, tossed the quaffle into the air, and gave it a resounding smack with his bludger’s bat. 

"Merlin's saggy-" James reacted several seconds too late, urging the broom as fast as it would go, then slammed the brakes as he approached his target He shot right past the quaffle, careening toward the pitch. 

_This is the end,_ James closed his eyes as the ground rapidly approached. _This is not how I imagined it. How anticlimactic._

“Arresto Momentum,” the captain yelled, a smile quirking her lips as James halted midair, then fell the remaining foot onto the pitch with a startled huff of breath. He shook sand out of his hair and awkwardly picked up the quaffle, tossing it back to the beater.

“First years, clear the air,” the Captain repeated as Sirius laughed himself sick from twenty feet up. “Stay and watch, if you like. Might learn a thing or two for next year.” 

Sirius, after he had regained the ability to breathe, flew over to join James in the stands. 

“Pity we can’t get better brooms,” Sirius commented. 

“Might be able to swing it for winter hols.”

“Well, maybe you can,” Sirius said darkly, “but my mum’s more likely to roast me alive at the moment.”

“Cheer up,” James said as he watched the Captain, whose name he’d learned from the shouting back and forth was Ayesha Osmani, flip a 180 on her broom for a save that smacked her with a force that drove her backward. “I figure I don’t need a new broom, anyway. Plenty of good ones here that don’t get enough use.” 

“Good point,” Sirius looked markedly more optimistic. “I figure our first step to liberation is stripping the hexes-“ he stood suddenly as a bludger went straight for Jon’s head from behind, but Jon batted it away almost lazily without turning. 

“Nice,” James said appreciatively. “Anyway, go on,” he encouraged, and listened to ideas pour from Sirius with single-minded focus. He was an on or off kind of bloke, Sirius, but when he was on James reckoned he was the most brilliant person he’d ever known. 

*

After detention, where the caretaker Argus Filch had made him scrub the prefect’s enormous bathroom to a shine (without magic, which was just cruel), James had made his weary way back to the dorms, where it had been decided he was to be confined for the rest of the day. Remus was working on his Defense Against the Dark Arts homework with Peter- or rather, for Peter, who needed the practice. Bertram wasn’t in the room; he rarely was, lately. Sirius was complaining, which was also par for the course. 

“He made us miss lunch, the tyrant,” he huffed, stretching across his bed as if in a faint. “And dinner is _hours_ away.” 

“Do you want something from the kitchens?” Peter asked. 

“What do you mean, from the kitchens?” Sirius sat up at once. 

“I mean, I know where they are,” Peter said, unsure if he should have spoken but determined to impress all the same. 

“Are you offering to fetch and carry for me?” Sirius smirked. 

“Well,” Peter’s ears went pink, “I can show you how to get in.” 

“Alright,” Sirius stood, earlier malaise forgotten. “Lead the way, then. Just can’t get caught by Argus Filth or the teachers.”

“Right,” Peter was delighted. “Yeah, it’s just over by the Hufflepuff dorms. I’ve got a friend there, Florence, who-“ 

“I don’t really care,” Sirius said, and marched to the door. Peter flushed, and turned to give Remus a pleading look. 

“Bet they've got mountains of biscuits," Remus shut his textbook. “James?”

James kept his eyes shut, feigning sleep. 

“He’s asleep,” Sirius said impatiently. “C’mon, I’m starving.”

James waited until the door was closed, then sat bolt upright and darted to his trunk, shuffling around until he felt the smooth, slippery material of the cloak. It always felt a cool to the touch, no matter the temperature of the room. He slipped it over his head, and disappeared. 

He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t told anyone, even Sirius, about the cloak yet. When his father had given it to him, he’d been told that there were none like it in the world, that it was a treasure of their family’s that had been passed generation to generation. He’d solemnly accepted the responsibility to look after it while he was having a bit of fun, and maybe that was it- he’d never been entrusted with something like this before. As if he were worthy of that trust. He liked Sirius, but this was something different from Pepper Imps or broomsticks. 

He trailed behind Sirius, Remus, and Peter as they descended through the first floor, down into the dungeons, turning left to veer away from the Potions corridor and Slytherin common room to a tunnel that began to collect paintings of badgers that bounded beside them as they walked past, black eyes blinking to take them in. James swore he heard one huff for air. 

The tunnels leading to the Hufflepuff common room could be called garden level, with the occasional shallow window pouring light into the enclosed space. 

“It’s like a hobbit hole,” Remus said. 

“What’s a hobbit?” Sirius asked. 

“Muggle fiction,” Remus offered. “They live in these sort of cozy underground tunnels.” 

Sirius snorted at this. “Why would you fill your head with that crap?” 

“Better than filling it with hot air,” Remus said dryly. 

“It’s just over here,” Peter said nervously. “Florence said you’ve just got to tickle the pear.”

“Dirty girl,” Sirius said, eyeing the portrait of the bowl of fruit. He reached forward and wiggled his fingers over the pear, which broke out into a fit of giggles. A green doorknob appeared, and Sirius turned it.

The portrait swung open to reveal a large, solid square arch that opened to an underground space as long as the great hall, though of a height that was only a couple feet or so taller than they were. In it, house elves of every shape and color fluttered about to lay pies and goblets on tables that were less elegant replicas of the house tables above. 

Sirius, James realized, was now talking to Remus. 

“What did you think?” Sirius laughed. “The beds made themselves by magic?” 

“Well, yes,” Remus stammered, red-faced as he followed Sirius in. “It’s been weeks, and I never saw any- oh. Excuse me, sorry,” he apologized to a house elf that had barreled into his legs. 

“You,” Sirius looked at the elf. “What’s your name?” 

“Namby,” the elf responded at once. “Master…” 

“Sirius Black,” Sirius answered. “Get me a pastry.” 

“Yes, Master Sirius Black,” Namby hurried off. 

“You shouldn’t treat them that way,” Remus stared into the flurry of activity around him, still looking a bit shell-shocked. 

“House elves don’t think like that,” Sirius waved a hand. “It’s best to be direct with them. They like giving you exactly what you want. Better than them having to guess. Ah,” Sirius took a pastry from Namby, “perfect.” 

James wandered over and snatched a roll from one of the tables, his hand darting out from underneath the cloak and disappearing again. He wandered out of the kitchens, where Remus had gone quiet. He thought, at first, that he might try to sneak into the common room, but had the eerie sense that the painted badgers could hear him chewing, and were working with their fellows to send out an intruder alert. He headed instead to the first floor, but that was practically old hat by now- classrooms, and more classrooms. 

He almost made his way back to Gryffindor tower, but at the last moment the staircase shifted. Instead of depositing him on the landing he vaguely recognized as the way to the Ravenclaw tower, it shuddered to a halt on a seventh floor landing he’d never seen it choose before. When he climbed the stairs, the corridor was deserted. 

Now _this_ was more like it. 

“What do you mean, it can’t be done,” a high, cold voice said, and James felt ice trickle down his spine. He couldn’t explain it; he knew it was best if he didn’t move, if he barely breathed rather than risk being found. 

“It’s a ritual to them, nothing more,” a quavering voice replied. It was high like a woman’s, but then, there were men with voices like that as well. “There’s no evidence to suggest it has that kind of power.”

“I wonder,” the cold voice said, “why you would choose to lie to me.”

“I’m not!” the other protested. “I- I can show you, the journals-“ 

“I am not interested in excuses,” the voice made the hairs on the back of James’ neck rise. “You have weeks, not months. I expect results.” 

“Yes, my lord,” the voice faded to a whisper and a soft tread fading down the corridor. 

An owl fluttered around the corner, nearly smacking James in the face as it swooped low, unusually large wings unfurling to steady itself. Its beak was opened in a nightmarish expression; it seemed to have no jaw, only a chasm of a wide, dark mouth set on either side by bulging yellow eyes. James ducked at the last moment, narrowly avoiding a man that strode in the demon bird’s wake. 

He should be called handsome, in an aesthetic sense- aristocratic nose, solid jaw line, dark, cropped hair and piercing eyes. He held himself like nobility and walked like he owned the castle, perfectly tailored black robes flaring out behind him with each step. But there was something wrong, in the sum of him; James thought about the eerie red tinge to his irises, the long slits of his nose, but it was neither of those things. James, who lived each day to its fullest and knew the future would care for itself, had a powerful rush of instinct he did not understand and could not name. 

The man paced back, forth, back again, and stood in front of the empty stone wall. James didn’t dare push past him and be heard, but he was starting to feel impatient when the outline of a door showed itself in the stone, rising to solidify in an intricate set of curling ironwork. 

From within his robes, the man pulled out a- was that a tiara? It was small, dainty. It looked like the crown jewels of some posh pureblood family to be brought out at a coming-of-age ceremony. Tiara in hand, the man strode through the doors. When they’d closed behind him, they melted back into the wall, and disappeared. 

“Cool,” James finally dared to breathe. 

*

James nearly tripped on the cloak when he darted through the portrait hole of the dormitories; he had been so distracted that he had forgotten he was wearing it. Halfway up the stairs, with no one in sight, he carefully tucked the cloak away into his bag. 

He opened the door to find Sirius poking his wand at a gourd, and Peter staring at the scene with near awe. 

“Not sure that’s how you’re supposed to do it, mate,” James said, tossing his bag on his bed. “I’ve been told it’s meant to be cooked first.”

Sirius gave Peter a look. 

“He’s concentrating,” Peter translated. 

“Oh, excuse me then,” James said airily. “I just discovered a secret room, but if I’m interrupting-“

Sirius looked up at that. “Secret room?” 

“No, no,” James waved a hand. “Don’t mind me. Wouldn’t want to break your concentration.” 

“It’s broken,” Sirius said bluntly. “Where’ve you been?” 

James shrugged. “Got bored by myself, figured I’d go for a stroll. Had to avoid being seen, on account of the detention-“ He looked around. “Where’s Bertram, anyway?”

Sirius shrugged. “Hasn’t shown up for the past couple nights.”

“Right,” James paused. “Anyway, I went up to the seventh floor corridor because it was deserted. Or, I thought it was.” He paused impressively. 

“Who was there?” Peter asked, and James reflected that he was, in the very least, an entertaining audience to have around. 

“Dunno,” James said enigmatically. “Heard someone arguing, then this creepy looking bloke came ‘round the corner, stood in front of the wall, and it turned into a door.”

“What was he doing there?” Peter asked. 

“I wasn’t going to ask him,” James said. “But he took out a tiara when he went in.”

The room went quiet. 

“A tiara?” Sirius’ lips twitched. 

“Yeah,” James laughed, pushing down his earlier unease. “Then the door disappeared again before I could get a look inside.”

“Did he say anything to get through?” Sirius asked. 

“No,” James said. “That’s the interesting bit. Can’t figure out how he did it. Yet.” He leaned down and picked up the gourd Sirius dropped. “Do I want to know?” 

Sirius poked it mournfully with his wand. “Figured we’re getting close to Halloween, and we’d better start planning if we want our prank to be decent.” 

“Our prank,” James turned the gourd in his hand. 

“I thought of it,” Peter pressed forward. “I heard they bring up massive pumpkins every year, and I figured we could enchant them to scare people.” 

“Anyway,” Sirius looked back at James. “I tried sculpere subrisis, but it just sort of twitches, and nothing happens.” 

James huffed. “It’s not a chair,” he moved the gourd out of Sirius’ reach, and pointed his wand. “Secare subrisis,” he said confidently.

The pumpkin split as if along an invisible seam to reveal a wide, leering grin. 

“Vociferatio,” Sirius flicked his wand, and the pumpkin gave a loud, earsplitting shriek that made Peter jump about a foot backwards.

“Nice,” James smiled at Sirius. “What do we want to have them do to the Slytherins?” 

Sirius tapped his wand thoughtfully on the gourd. “Well-“

“It’s past curfew,” Peter interrupted. 

“Don’t worry, Petey,” Sirius said, singsong. “We won’t get you in trouble with mum and dad.” 

Peter flushed. “I just mean- where’s Remus?”


	8. The Shrieking Shack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edits are... not happening so much anymore, so let me know if you notice anything egregious!

The Hogwarts grounds were slowly turning gold in the waning light, and Remus had to be careful not to trip over any roots as he hurried to follow Madame Pomfrey, her white hat bobbing ahead of him. 

“That’s it?” Remus asked, staring at the young tree with its branches spiked towards the sky. They seemed to grow in clusters from stumps reminiscent of a beater’s bat. 

Madame Pomfrey laughed, short, and bent down to pick up a stone. She aimed it at the base of the tree’s trunk and threw. 

Almost immediately, the bat-like arms of the tree swung to smack the ground where the stone had landed, its spiky branches wickedly sharp as they blurred past in a flurry of violence. The ground shuddered with the reverberations of a succession of brutal thuds. 

“And that,” Madame Pomfrey picked up a large stick that had been tucked away beneath a nearby shrub, “is why it is called a Whomping Willow.” She extended the stick forward to press a knot on the willow’s trunk, and the great tree shuddered, its limbs going still. 

“Lumos,” Madame Pomfrey lit her wand to reveal the dark mouth of the tunnel beneath the tree. “Come along, dear.” 

Remus disappeared into the mouth of the tunnel. He felt the crunch of an insect beneath his foot, but when he peered down he couldn’t make anything out. 

“We’ve charmed the door with a series of locking spells,” Madame Pomfrey said. “I think your father was particularly impressed by the enchantment Professor Flitwick used to seal the entrance- oh, watch your step. There’s a rock, just there.”

“Did he think it- I won’t be able, to get out,” Remus asked. 

“No, dear,” Madame Pomfrey led him deeper into the tunnel, which continued to extend into the darkness, “it will be perfectly safe. The Headmaster himself has examined it.” 

Remus did not say anything, at this. He imagined escaping through some small, unsealed crack. Perhaps the wolf would make it into the village below, to smell human blood and burst its way through the window of the nearest unsuspecting family. Or, perhaps the wolf would smell a student roaming through the grounds, out past curfew. He imagined Peter lying on the ground, throat ripped out, and shuddered. 

“Ah, here we are,” Madame Pomfrey said brightly, pointing her wand at a rather forbidding looking door that had clearly been reinforced with a several new panels of wood. “Alohomora,” she said, and the door swung open.

“It’s sturdier than it looks,” she rapped the wood, and disentangled the locks. 

They emerged at the top of a flight of stairs into a dusty, expansive room. Its heavy velvet curtains were moth-eaten from neglect, the iron chandelier overhead beginning to rust. Remus ran his fingers over the keys of a grand piano and pressed down; out of tune. 

“I know it’s a bit dreary,” Madame Pomfrey said, her determined smile slipping a bit. 

“No, that’s good,” Remus said, sitting in an ornate chair with one leg missing. His joints were aching fiercely, a deep, biting pain that had grown over the past several days. “I’d just wreck anything nice.” 

“Well,” Madame Pomfrey rummaged in her sack, and pulled out a large wool blanket. “I’ve cleaned the bed, and I thought, when you’re, done, it might be a bit cold that early in the morning,” she extended the blanket to Remus, but he shook his head. 

“It’ll smell human,” he said. “I’ll just tear it to shreds.” 

“Oh,” she faltered. 

“Unless you have somewhere I can put it, that the wolf can’t reach,” Remus tried. 

“Right,” she snapped her fingers. “Here, in the wardrobe,” she opened its doors, which hung awkwardly on broken hinges. “ _Obsigno _. There. I’ve put a sealing spell on it. That way, er, won’t be able to smell it.”__

__Remus ignored the dodge of nouns ( _You? The wolf?_ ) and smiled reassuringly. “That’ll be somewhere to put my clothes. Thank you.” _ _

__“Of course,” she said, flustered. “It’s my job. Do you need anything else?”_ _

__“No,” he said politely, but she stood there, uncertain._ _

__“Are you sure?” she pursed her lips, looking down at her watch. “I could stay for a few minutes longer.”_ _

__“I’ve got to take off my clothes,” Remus said, but he softened it with a smile. “Don’t have enough pairs of socks to shred one every month.”_ _

__“Right,” she nodded. “I’ll be back in the morning to come fetch you.”_ _

__“I’ll be here,” Remus hoped._ _

__After Madame Pomfrey had shut and locked the door behind her, Remus stripped off his sweater, his aching muscles tensing at the cold. He felt a shift in his ribs as he pulled his shirt over his head and winced as he pressed them back into place. When he was done and his clothes tucked away into the latched wardrobe, he wrapped his arms around himself, shivering._ _

__“One,” he counted the beams of the ceiling. “Two, three.” He shifted from foot to foot. “Thirty.” He closed his eyes. “Sixty-one, sixty-two,” his breathing went shallow and fast. “Seventy-five, seventy-six,“ he could feel his skin pulling taught like a rubber band, ready to snap. “S-seventy-eight-“_ _

__All of his ribs dislocated simultaneously, and he started to scream._ _

__*_ _

__Remus watched the morning sun cross the room as it rose to high noon. He shuffled the blanket of the infirmary cot off his torso, and bit back a gasp of pain as it caught one of his bandages._ _

__Madame Pomfrey's sharp eyes poked around the corner. "Alright, dear?" she called._ _

__"Yes," Remus shuffled his feet and waited for her to disappear again. An ancient clock ticked audibly through the quiet space._ _

__For the past several hours, Remus had only the company of his thoughts to fill the silence. He thought about Madame Pomfrey sniffling in her office. He wondered if his transformations would just keep getting worse as he got older. He would, of course, be stronger and more able to tear himself to shreds. He'd read something in one of his mom's books once about osteoarthritis, and thought that was also likely to happen as his joints wore out._ _

__It was all inevitable, really. He didn't know how long werewolves usually lived, but there were probably more books in the Hogwarts library with pictures of slavering wolves that could tell him. Even Newt Scamander, who was famous for his protection of misunderstood magical creatures, had considered werewolves a danger to society. He created the Werewolf Registry, after all. Maybe Remus could ask him about it- he'd heard Mr. Scamander stopped in sometimes to see the headmaster. Remus laughed to himself._ _

__"I need to get out of here," Remus said to the room._ _

__"What was that, dear?" Madame Pomfrey called._ _

__Remus swung his legs over the side of the bed, careful not to disturb his bandages as he stood. He'd slept a full day through and only woken early this morning having already missed a full day of class._ _

__"I can go now," Remus said in the doorway of Madame Pomfreys' office, trying to make it look as if he weren't leaning on the doorframe._ _

__Madame Pomfrey's eyes bulged in their sockets. "Sit back down, young man!" she ordered, and Remus made his way back to the cot as she anxiously looked him over._ _

__"I've already missed a day of class," Remus protested as she muttered and waved her wand in a complicated twirling configuration. "If I'm gone too much, they'll start to think about it more," Remus lowered his voice. "And there's nothing on my face or my hands this time, so they won't suspect. They'll just think I look ill."_ _

__"Hmm," Madame Pomfrey studied a series of symbols that flashed through the air. "Are you in any pain?"_ _

__"Just a little sore," Remus lied. "I heal fast. It usually looks worse than it is."_ _

__Madame Pomfrey placed two fingers his chest and tapped three times. "Take a deep breath," she instructed._ _

__Remus breathed in, trying not to react to the bright flare of pain through the gash below his ribs. "Please," he breathed out. "I want to go to herbology."_ _

__"Well," she hedged, "if you're sure you feel well enough. But come right back if you start feeling worse. And don't overexert yourself."_ _

__"Yes ma'am," Remus said swiftly. Madame Pomfrey gave him another squint, then watched him with an eagle's eye as he walked stiffly out the door._ _

__Remus sweated with the effort it took to walk down the corridor, but he immediately felt better as he entered the high-ceilinged entryway of portraits. It was a bit odd to be out when all of the other students were in class and the halls deserted, but maybe if he could just grab his books and parchment before anyone noticed, he might not make such a spectacle._ _

__Had there always been this many stairs to Gryffindor Tower, or had the staircase grown? Could it do that?_ _

__"Just a few more steps," Remus muttered. "Yes, great. Five more." He huffed his way to the first landing. "Take a little break, you earned it." He created there for a moment, grasping the railing. "Ok," he said, and ascended the second flight of stairs. "One step at a time." He clutched the banister like a lifeline._ _

__"Book, parchment, quill," Remus huffed, "herbology. Then you can sleep in your bed. Cots are terrible. Beds are soft. Soft is nice."_ _

__He had been so focused on his feet that when he smacked face to face with a semi-solid apparition hanging upside-down in front of him he yelped in surprise and stumbled off the step.  
The apparition smiled. "What's your name, loony?"_ _

__"Remus. Lupin," Remus stuttered out in shock, still trying to find his footing._ _

__The apparition's smile grew until it touched ear to ear. "Loony Lupin!" The man's shimmering vest buttons strained as he cackled. "Loony Loony Lupin."_ _

__Chattering in the halls grew abruptly as classes let out, and Remus struggled his way up the rest of the stairs, anxious to get to the tower before someone saw him._ _

__"LOONY LOONY LUPIN!" the apparition shrieked. "LOONY LUPIN!"_ _

__The chatter died down as everyone from the first floor up to the sixth tried to spot what the apparition was shouting about._ _

__"LOONY LUPIN," the apparition whizzed in a circle around Remus' head._ _

__"Cheshire cat," Remus said miserably to the Fat Lady as the chatter started back up. It felt as if every eye in the castle were on him._ _

__"Oh, I'm sorry dear," she tutted, "but that one's expired."_ _

___Please,_ he mouthed desperately._ _

__"Lumpkraut," a voice behind him said. "Remus, right? You all right there?"_ _

__Naveem, the Gryffindor Prefect, had turned to face the apparition. "Off with you, Peeves. You've had your fun for now."_ _

__Peeves blew a loud raspberry and made a rude gesture at Naveem, but whizzed off as the student's attention turned away from the spectacle._ _

__"Thanks," Remus said, not looking Naveem in the eye. He could feel his face burning all the way up to his room, but at least he'd been given a kick of adrenaline that powered him all the way to herbology._ _

__“Merlin,” James scanned Remus as he sidled in on one of Greenhouse Four’s benches just before Professor Lichen clapped her hands for attention. “You look like a gnome that’s been swung and flung.”_ _

__“Thanks,” Remus said hoarsely as he took his seat._ _

__The herbology classroom was filled with the bright midafternoon sun that filtered through thick glass panes and foliage larger than Remus' head. Professor Lichen, a fit witch with a perpetually overbright smile, had put up posters and decorations around the classroom. Hovering in front of Remus was the drawing of a boy covered in pimples that occasionally burst to form the neon orange words, _Butober pus pops pus-ky pimples!__ _

__"You're all in for a treat today!" Professor Lichen's smile shone as she gazed at her students._ _

__"Oh boy," Sirius said under his breath, dry as the desert._ _

__"Shrivelfigs!" Professor Lichen announced. "Straight from our very own forests this morning." A tray of brown, lumpy looking fruits that smelled as if they'd been left to rot hovered to land on the middle of the table. "Oh, yes, Miss MacDonald," the Professor pointed at Mary's raised hand._ _

__"Our textbook says shrivelfigs are found in Abyssinia," Mary said. "Did the school plant them in the forest?"_ _

__"Excellent point, Miss Mac Donald," Professor Lichen clapped her hands together. "But your textbook says the _best_ shrivelfigs are found in Abyssinia, because it is one of the few ancient magical forests left. So," she placed her dirt-covered palms flat on the table, "to answer your question, you could say the school was planted here because of the forest!"_ _

__Mary turned to Lily, her brow furrowed, but Professor Lichen had already moved on. "One shrivelfig per pair, please! And yes, Mr. Aubrey," she said, spotting his hand, "you may wear a mask if you like."_ _

__Remus had just pickled his shrivelfig when he saw James and Sirius hunched over theirs and poking at it with their wands._ _

__“Funny,” Remus said, low, “I don’t remember needing my wand to pickle a shrivelfig.” Peter looked up at him in horror, but James had already heard._ _

__“We feel our creative potential is being stifled by this lesson,” James replied, not looking up from his shrivelfig, which had begun to rock back and forth as if dancing._ _

__“Thought you’d had enough detention this week,” Remus peered at the shrivelfig._ _

__“If you’d like to do something more exciting than pickle another shrivelfig, all you’ve got to do is ask,” Sirius said in a singsong voice._ _

__“Alright,” Remus said grudgingly. “What are you up to?”_ _

__"Halloween's coming up," the shrivelfig fell to rest on the table as Professor Lichen passed by. "Would be tragic if the pumpkins didn't have a bit of... flavor."_ _

__"We're trying to teach them to chase Slytherins, Sirius said bluntly. "Only, we can't put a tracking spell on every Slytherin scarf."_ _

__Remus had forgotten his shrivelfig where it floated in brine. "What about the Slytherin table?"_ _

__"In front of God and Dumbledore?" James laughed. "Bold, Lupin."_ _

__"You can track all the Slytherin scarves," Peter said._ _

__"Anyway," Sirius started, "we've got the shouting to a pretty good pitch now-"_ _

__"What're you saying, Peter?" Remus cut in._ _

__Peter looked at all of them, then back at Remus. "I was just thinking- the Slytherin laundry all goes to one place. The chutes sort by house, so the elves can keep everything separate."_ _

__"How do you know that?" Sirius squinted._ _

__"I talk to 'em, sometimes," Peter flushed. "In the kitchens."_ _

__"Not a bad idea," James raised an eyebrow at Sirius. "If we can figure out what night they do the laundry, we could slip in when no one's looking."_ _

__"Yeah, if we were invisible," Sirius snorted. "There's about a hundred of them, they don't even leave the service tunnels when students can see them."_ _

__"Well," James looked around at them. "What if we could be?"_ _

__*_ _

__"We're a band of... bandits," James whispered, the wand below his chin lighting up his face eerily in the pitch black tunnel._ _

__Peter yelped and jumped, dislodging the cloak._ _

__"Sorry, sorry," Remus whispered._ _

__"That's the fourth time!" Peter complained. "I haven’t got any toes left!”_ _

__"No, that won't work," Sirius mused. "What about pirates? Swashbucklers? Nevermind, forget I said that."_ _

__"The plunderers," James said._ _

__"Shh," Remus hissed._ _

__"This is it. Left," Peter whispered._ _

__There was a confused shuffling of feet that led to several more banged toes and one unfortunate meeting between a nose and a stone wall._ _

__"Other left," Peter groaned._ _

__"Stop talking."_ _

__James doused the light of his wand as a pair of house elves wandered down the tunnel towards them. Shoulder to shoulder, they left hardly enough space for a rat to pass by._ _

__"Left!" Peter squeaked, hauling Remus by the arm into the darkness._ _

__"Lumlie thinks you should tell her how you feel," one of the house elves patted her friend on the shoulder._ _

__James and Sirius tumbled out of the corridor into the dark alcove, the cloak slipping off their heads._ _

__"She says my ears are too small," the other elf drooped. Even her nose seemed to wilt._ _

__"Remus, get your foot off the-"_ _

__The room lit up with a dazzling beam of white light as the elves entered. James, whose face poked out of the cloak which draped behind him like a shimmering hood, froze._ _

__"She has told Lumlie that she likes your ear fuzz. Do not believe everything Pamby says. Lumlie thinks you should give Namby the beads you found."_ _

__Lumlie had her back turned as she rubbed a hand on her friend's shoulder, who sniffed as she lifted her gaze from the floor._ _

__"Ah!" the elf screamed._ _

__"Ah!" James screamed._ _

__Lumlie raised her hand, thumb and forefinger touching, as if ready to snap. James did not know what happened when a human was Vanished, but thought he might consider it another day._ _

__"I, I," James stuttered._ _

__"Lumlie," the elf whispered, "Pokey thinks he is a friend of Sir Nicholas."_ _

__"Nearly Headless Nick?" James stared. Sirius, beneath the cloak, kicked him in the shin. "Ah! I mean, yes! I am Frederick the... Fully Headless."_ _

__"Lumlie thinks you should let poor Sir Nicholas join the hunt," she pointed at him warningly. "Lumlie doesn't like bullies."_ _

__"Right," James said, pitch jumping several octaves. "I'll get on that right away. Yes," He kicked Sirius back, and grabbed the edge of the cloak with his fingers. "Goodbye!"_ _

__James lunged backwards to disappear beneath the cloak, and stomped hard on Peter's toes._ _

__"Agh!"_ _

__The house elves peered at the corner where James had disappeared._ _

__"Haven't quite got the hang of walls! Very tricky, being a ghost-mmph," James said as Sirius covered his mouth._ _

__"Lumlie thinks that one is a no good rascal."_ _

___Rascals?_ James mouthed. Sirius shook his head. _ _

__By the time the elves had finished with the laundry, the boys had learned quite a lot about Namby, who apparently had ear tufts as soft as a Puffskein, and skin as wrinkly as Gryffindor boy's shirts._ _

__The Slytherin scarves, socks, and underwear had been neatly folded into bins and left to be brought to the dorms when Pokey determined they had all fallen asleep._ _

__"Right," James chucked the cloak and pulled the underwear bin towards himself. "Time to get to work."_ _

__"You're not going to, hurt them," Remus peered at his bucket of socks._ _

__"No permanent maiming," James reassured._ _

__"I know it's not in your nature," Sirius re-folded a scarf he had finished with, "but you could try to have a little fun every now and then. Besides, did you see what their beater did to John during the match?"_ _

__"I was sick," Remus did not look reassured, but whispered the incantation over a pair of socks._ _

__"Remus doesn't like Quidditch."_ _

__"I don't...not like it."_ _

__"Remus doesn't like fun."_ _

__"Hey, that's not-"_ _

__"Oy, shut up and spell."_ _

__"Yes, mom."_ _

__"Shut up."_ _

__"...The Rampaging Pillagers? No, sounded better in my head."_ _


	9. Halloween

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plot is starting to happen. lots of dialogue in this chapter?
> 
> thanks so much to everyone who has commented! if I haven't replied, it's not because I haven't read and appreciated them, but because I've got some wicked tendonitis in my fingers rn and typing is a pain adventure

Pumpkin juice in hand, sausage and soldiers on his plate, James surveyed the Great Hall with a deep sense of pleasure unsurpassed by any in his short life thus far. 

Twenty odd giant jack-o-lanterns had floated from their perches to hone in on the Slytherins with uncanny precision. They screamed like banshees, vomited pumpkin guts, and sang ditties about slithering in. The wide smile of one neatly swallowed the head of a Slytherin girl, who ran in panicked circles and smashed her head on the table. 

Yes, James thought as he surveyed the chaos, this was unparalleled. A peerless prank.

"I've never been prouder of myself," James said as the pumpkins began to move in sync to a chorus of "slither-in, slither-in."

"We're raising the bar for generations to come," Sirius agreed. 

Finally, the pumpkins smashed into each other with all the force of 500 pound sumo wrestlers, raining pulp and chunks of gourd onto the students below.

"Art," James sighed. 

As the carnage cleared, James hummed to himself, surveying the laughing Gryffindors. Even the Divination Professor, clad in her usual beaded robes and green dragon hide boots, was laughing. 

As if she had felt James' gaze on her, she turned to meet his eyes. It was just a flick of her eyelid before she turned back to Professor Lichen, but James could have sworn she winked at him. 

"Mr. Potter," a high brogue behind James' left ear made him turn. "And Mr. Black. You are both looking entirely too calm."

"Professor?" James tilted his head.

"Some advice, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall crossed her arms over her chest, "if you do not intend to get caught, do try to look surprised when the other students are fleeing the scene of the crime."

"Professor, I don't-"

"Quiet, Mr. Black," McGonagall held up a hand. "Report to my office after class this afternoon, by which time I will have decided what to do with you. Both of you." She turned away before they could say more, tartan cloak trailing magnificently behind her. 

"I think we've impressed her," James said. "Oh, look," he brightened as a Slytherin with pumpkin guts in his hair stalked past, raining pumpkin seeds as he made for the door of the Hall. "Hey, Snivelly!" James shouted. "Going to wash your hair for the first time? Someone should get a medal for services to the school!"

"If looks could kill," Sirius commented.

"What a day," James sighed as he waved at a group of Slytherins whose glares had focused on him. "What do you figure McGonagall's got in mind for detention?"

*  
"Weeding?"

"Well put, Mr. Potter," Professor McGongall laced her fingers together, her frown passing over each of them in turn. "Our groundskeeper, Hagrid, will meet you in the courtyard in ten minutes."

Sirius paled. "You can't-"

James elbowed Sirius in the gut. Sirius stomped on his foot.

"Mr. Black," McGonagall drew herself up, palms flat on her desk, "do not presume to tell me what I can and can not do. Perhaps you should have thought about the consequences before destroying Hagrid's prize pumpkins, which he spent all summer growing for the school."

"We understand, Professor," James pressed his elbow against Sirius' side in warning. "We're very sorry."

"Are you, I wonder?" McGonagall stared at them in silence for a moment. "Courtyard," she sighed. "I've better things to do. And I'm sure Horace is waiting for me by the Gryffindor hourglass."

James, not needing to be told twice, took hold of Sirius and pulled him from the room. 

"You're strangling me," Sirius plucked at James' death grip on his robes.

"You've a lot to learn about how to play the game," James retorted.

"I've known the game since birth," Sirius scowled. "I know _fork etiquette_ , Potter." Sirius twisted to shake James off, and the overbalanced through the entryway.

Unfortunately, they did not have far to fall.

"It's you two," Hagrid frowned down at them, as if two bodies had not just careened into his ribs.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Sirius said.

"Hello," James found his way upright. "Sorry, ah, about the pumpkins. We didn't know they were yours."

"Hm," Hagrid grunted, and took off toward the bridge, which creaked and swayed in the autumn wind. 

Hagrid's vegetable patch covered the slope of a hill near his hut. Both stood at the edge of the forest, trees towering higher than the spires of the castle.

"Is that your, um, house?" Sirius asked. 

Hagrid eyed him. "Aye. It's where I like ter eat my raw animals."

Sirius gaped at this, but James looked chagrined. "You heard that?"

Hagrid only crossed his arms over his chest. 

"We're sorry," James said. "We were being stupid. We didn't mean it."

"It's a nice house," Sirius ventured.

"'S not much," Hagrid grunted, "but it does fine. Wait here, I've got ter grab the knives."

"Right," Sirius swallowed. 

The knives were longer than James' arm and wicked sharp. 

"I thought we were weeding," James said as Sirius brandished the blade like a saber. 

"Aye," Hagrid stomped off toward his garden and leaned down. "See here?" he pointed at a weed about an inch tall. 

James leant forward to squint at it. Tentatively, he reached out and grasped it. "Right. I've got this one." 

He gave it a tug. It didn't budge. 

Sirius snorted. 

"Might as well do nothing, if you're going ter do that," Hagrid elbowed him about of the way, grasped the weed, and pulled. 

There was a great rip of roots through soil as Hagrid pulled, upending several square feet of packed dirt. The branching white roots were at least as thick around as Hagrid's fingers, and still they burrowed deep in the soil, back towards the forest.

"That," Hagrid nudged the root with his toe, "is why we only had twenty pumpkins this year."

"So we've got to," James glanced at the roots, which had begun twitching when they were exposed to the air, "cut them up?"

"You've got ter get them by the roots," Hagrid stomped off towards the forest. When the boys did not follow him, he looked back. "Stay close," he called, waving his knife, "they don't like it when we bring these in."

"Why are we going into the forest?" Sirius asked. 

"You've got ter tear it up by the roots," Hagrid repeated impatiently. He gestured at the forest floor with his knife, where trails of the weeds ran over decaying leaves.

"Obviously," James shouldered Sirius.

The trees seemed to shake ominously at their entrance, their dying leaves falling whispers. As if the trees were talking to one another. 

"As long as you don't hurt them, they won't hurt you," Hagrid glanced back at them. "Though lately... can't say for sure."

A tendril from a vine wrapped around one of the trees poked at Sirius's neck from behind, but as soon as he turned it retreated.

"I feel like it wants to strangle me," Sirius said darkly.

"Give a shout if it tries," Hagrid batted away a questing tendril, which at once bristled with thorns. "'Never seen it like this," Hagrid frowned up at the trees. "Maybe you two ought ter go back to the hut."

"No," James tripped over a root, "we want to help."

"What's wrong with it?" Sirius tightened his grip on his knife.

"Something's made it angry," Hagrid said. The high, mournful note of a bird above made James shiver. 

"Is it the centaurs?" Sirius asked. "I've heard they live in the forest."

Hagrid gave a roar of laughter at this. "Centaurs, bother the forest? Nah. Giants, maybe."

"There are giants?" Sirius looked around, as if he would spot one coming through the trees.

"Aye. Some of them've gotten pushed out of their caves in the mountains." Hagrid puffed up his chest as he strode forward. "Dumbledore sent me ter talk ter them. Figure out what's gone wrong."

"What did you find out?" James asked, eyes wide.

"Can't talk about that," Hagrid grunted. 

"But if the giants are in the forest-" James started.

Hagrid waved a hand. "It's not your concern. Dumbledore's kept his eye on it, that's all any of us need to know. Ha!" he bellowed, and James and Sirius jumped, brandishing their knives and looking around wildly. 

"Found the root," Hagrid pointed his knife at a massive, stark white root that reared up from beneath the trunk of a tree. It was about as thick around as a barrel. 

"Oh," James surveyed it. "Do we have to, pull it up?"

"Nope," Hagrid swung his knife over his head, and it bit down into the root with a harsh thump. The snakelike mass of vines that grew from it trembled ominously.

"I don't know that we'd be much good at that,"James said as Hagrid took another mighty swing at the root. 

"Thas' not why you're here," Hagrid grunted, shaking his foot. "Jus' get the little ones till I'm done."

A thick tendril had begun to snake its way up Hagrid's ankle, drawing tighter as it went. 

"Got it!" Sirius hacked at the vine, which writhed on the ground where it had been severed. In its place, two more vines sprang up- one for Hagrid's arm, and one for Sirius' waist.

Sirius turned to hack at the vine winding around his torso, and yet another vine anchored itself snugly around Hagrid's arm. 

"Get Hagrid's!" James shouted, hacking at the bush of vines attempting to strangle Sirius. "I've got you!"

The vines, now bristling with thorns, rose up like a beast with a hundred arms.

"Don't worry!" James brandished his knife.

Sirius turned, wondering what it was he shouldn’t be worried about. The vines shot out, but not before James ran, yelling, to meet them.

"Hang on," Hagrid grunted as James was hoisted up by his ankle, knife still flailing. 

"For Gryffindor!" James squinted. 

"Hey! You almost took my arm off!"

"Sorry, mate," James hacked at the vines suspending him in the air, "lost my glasses."

"Merlin's left-"

"Ha!" Hagrid crowed. A meaty thunk rang out, and all of the vines dropped to the ground, twitching. 

"Brilliant," James patted the ground. Sirius handed over a set of thin metal frames with round lenses. 

"Ta," James said, replacing the glasses and blinking as he tried to peer out through a shattered lens.

The walk out of the forest as the sun sank was not nearly as eventful as the walk in. Everywhere, tendrils lay twitching on the ground. 

Once they reappeared in the sunlit grounds, Hagrid took one look at their scratched and bleeding arms and faces and insisted on making them rub a foul smelling cream over the cuts. 

"No really, it's fine," James insisted as Hagrid hovered with the jar that smelled worse than a shrivelfig. "Can feel it going away already." He kicked Sirius.

"Me too," Sirius examined his arm. "Look," he pointed at a shallow scratch. "Practically healed."

“Here,” Hagrid shoved the jar at Sirius. “Take some, I’ve got plenty more.”

Sirius opened his mouth.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” James said quickly.

“Well,” Hagrid looked embarrassed. “Jus’ stay out of trouble now, alright?”

“Absolutely,” James smiled.

*

"You look like you've battled a rose bush," Remus looked up from his parchment as a clump of dirt fall from James' back to scatter on the floor.

"You've no idea," James pointed his wand at his glasses. "Reparo." When he replaced them, one of the lenses rose above his left eye, the other below his right.

"Why d'you smell like the Slytherin tunnels?" Peter wrinkled his nose. 

"The what now?" Sirius threw his robes down the chute.

"Slytherin tunnels. They smell like a sewer," Peter put his hand over his nose.

"Isn't that interesting?" James gave Sirius a look. 

"Here," Remus took James' glasses from him. "If I fix these, will you shower?"

"That's rich," Sirius huffed. "Considering you should've been out there with us, getting mauled by trees."

"Yes, I'll make sure to get myself caught next time," Remus fiddled with the ear wires of the glasses.

"Mauled by trees?" Peter asked.

"Hagrid says they're angry," James shrugged. "Something about the giants coming into the forest."

Remus looked up. "There are giants in the forest?" 

"Apparently Dumbledore's been looking into it," Sirius sat on his bed, mud and all. "Hagrid got shifty when we asked."

Remus went silent at this news, frowning as if trying hard to remember something important. 

"Please take a bloody shower," Peter grumbled.

James gave Sirius an eyebrow wiggle and a significant tap of his left foot, and several shouts later all four of them were headed for the showers.


	10. Semianum Sempra

"Massacring Mistletoe?" Sirius peered at the cheery spring with white berries.

"No," Professor Lichen shook the mistletoe, raining sparkles onto the table below. "Common mistletoe. Bit of fun for the hols!"

"Oh joy," James sighed, "oh rapture unforeseen."

Lily and Mary enchanted their mistletoe to shout holiday greetings at intervals. Upon discovering this, Professor Lichen crowed with delight and declared it would be hung in the Great Hall. James and Sirius whispered over their mistletoe, darting furtive glances at Professor Lichen. 

"I tried to ask Professor Goldberg," Remus whispered to Peter, "but she's gone for Hanukkah."

Peter shrugged. "I don't care why the giants are there, as long as they aren't here."

Sirius looked up at this. "You figure anything out?"

"No," Remus whispered back. "But I reckon-"

James pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at Remus. "Goldberg tell you anything?"

"Keep up, Potter," Sirius frowned at him. "Is it your glasses that's crooked or your nose?"

"Anyway," Remus continued, "I reckon Lichen's the one who knows the most about the forest. She's there all the time, isn't she?"

"Boys!" Professor Lichen's voice made them all jump. "Less gossiping, more enchanting!"

"Professor?" Remus asked. "Do you know why a magical forest might start attacking anything," he looked at James and Sirius, "or anyone?"

Professor Lichen's smile slipped. "That hasn't got anything to do with this lesson, Mr. Lupin." She paused and looked at the four of them, as if realizing her faux pas. "You haven't been wandering over by the forest, have you?"

"No," Remus said quickly. "It's just- I'm friends with Hagrid."

"Ah," her expression cleared. "Well, it's nothing to worry about, dear. These things happen! Usually sorts itself." She gave him a pat on the shoulder, and hurried off to where Bertram was having some trouble controlling where his mistletoe snowed.

"There you go," Peter said, finishing up with his preservation charm and handing their sprig to Remus, who absently placed it on the table. 

Sirius shared a glance with Remus before returning to help James with "the crowning glory of the Gryffindor common room."

*

Double potions had the Gryffindors and Slytherins brewing a basic Shouting Solution, the latest in potions designed to temporarily modify certain parts of the body. Last week, Professor Slughorn had them take off their shoes before giving them permission to sample a potion that gave them webbing between their fingers and toes like a frog.

Remus continued to struggle in potions; it seemed as if the very room made him feel ill, while Peter did not help much by forgetting his conversions and adding an extra ounce of troll's mucus. 

James and Sirius had already finished preparing their ingredients, and sat waiting for the mucus to settle.

"Speaking of mucus," James nudged Sirius, who followed his gaze to Snape where he sniffed over his cauldron. James stood, and Sirius followed.

"Hey, Snivellus," James greeted. Snape looked up, his expression blank.

"Finally washed your hair, I see," Sirius added. "Who should I thank for showing you the shampoo?"

"Potter!" Lily strode over, ingredients in hand. "And Black," she narrowed her eyes at Sirius. "Get back to your own cauldron, or see if I won't jinx you both!"

“It’s fine, Lily,” Snape said, brushing past them on his way to retrieve more murtlap from the front of the room. He looked coolly at them after he’d returned to his cauldron with Lily, dark eyes glancing over every few seconds. 

"Do you get the feeling that creep's watching us?" Sirius muttered as he stirred in his frogs' eggs.

"Can't believe Lily spends time with him, of all people," James muttered. 

"Never trust a Slytherin," Sirius agreed as Snape's eyes darted over yet again.

"I've got to keep an eye out," James said decisively. "For her sake."

"You've got the pine sap? That'll be it," Sirius glanced speculatively at their cauldron. 

"Prepare your best yodel," James said as he filled two goblets with shouting solution and clinked a toast.

Sirius took a gulp, and looked up to see Snape smirking back at him.

"Bugger," Sirius squeaked like a particularly distressed chipmunk.

"What'd you do?" James' chirp echoed throughout the dungeon.

"I didn't do anything!" Sirius shouted as if he'd just swallowed helium. "It was that snivelly bastard!" he pointed at Snape.

"Too much essence of murtlap!" Slughorn's chuckle boomed throughout the room as the other students began to laugh. The Slytherins looked as if Christmas had come early. "Really, boys," Slughorn shook his head, "it's a very simple potion. I would have thought better of you both." 

At this, the Slytherins became a sea of smirks and peals of laughter. Even the Gryffindors his smiles behind their hands.

Sirius rounded on Snape. "You did it!" he accused, his squeak sending the room into a renewed fit of laughter. 

"The infamous Black temper," Snape drawled. "Your cousin's been telling me all about it. She says you're just like your mother."

"Shut up," Sirius squealed, pulling his wand from his robes and pointing it at Snape.

"Now, boys," Slughorn chuckled nervously, waving a hand at them. 

"Willing to use any means to achieve your ends, Black?" Severus curled his lip at Sirius' wand. "Thank Merlin you convinced the sorting hat not to put you in Slytherin."

"You slimy bastard," Sirius' chirping sent the classroom into more peals of laughter while Slughorn stood awkwardly at his desk.

"Those runes you've been drawing on your arms during class," Snape's gaze seemed to look through Sirius, "they're not just so you can look like an idiot. They're protection runes. But what does Sirius Black need protecting from?" he smiled. "I think you're afraid of going home. Should I tell them that your m-"

"SEMIANUM SEMPRA!" Sirius shouted, and the student's laughter fell silent.

Out of the silence, a high scream of pain rose. The noise echoed eerily about the dungeon walls while pale faces stared on in shock at the body of Severus Snape, which had crumpled to the ground.  
Snape was deathly pale, his body held at a rigor in unnatural angles. His skin had turned a decaying shade of green in places, sloughing off gangrene only to heal again moments later. His eyes were clouded, his mouth frozen wide in agony. He seemed to stare at nothing, and did not move. 

"Finite incantantem!" Professor Slughorn's voice startled the room into movement. Snape's body immediately spasmed as he curled into himself on the floor, but no one was looking at him. 

Every eye had turned on Sirius Black, wary and tense. Even Professor Slughorn looked frightened as he pointed at Sirius. 

"Mr. Black," Slughorn's hand shook. "To the headmaster's office. Now." 

Sirius looked to James, who immediately stepped away from him, his look of horror replaced by an unmistakable disgust. 

"Fine," Sirius spat, tucking his wand away into his robes and striding past the Gryffindors that had cleared a path to the door.

*

Remus watched as Lily ran to comfort Severus, whose shoulders shook where he was curled on the floor in a puddle of overlong robes. She was immediately rebuffed by Snape, who said something sharp that made her bristle. 

"That's Dark Magic," Peter's eyes were round as a mooncalf's. "It's, I've heard it's like being dead and alive at the same time. Do you think they'll expel him?"

"I don't know," Remus packed his potions textbook and shouldered his bag.

"Well," Peter hurried to keep up, "want to play a game of Snap before dinner?"

"Can't," Remus shook his head. "I've got studying to do."

"Brilliant," Peter looked relieved, "we can study together, then. I've got no idea how to tell a zombie from an inferius."

Remus walked faster, his long legs outpacing Peter's. "I've got to write my charms essay, sorry. See you later?"

Peter frowned. "I thought you'd already written-"

Remus turned the corner, cutting off the chatter of his classmates. It seemed everyone was talking about Sirius Black; the word spread faster than he could walk through every corridor. Even in the alcove he'd found with lush green plants that had grown through the stone walls to block its entrance, there were two Hufflepuff third years whispering about the curse.

Remus felt something grow tighter in his chest, ready to snap. He needed to get away from this, from the chatter and gossip. He couldn't think, and he wished desperately for something, anything else to distract him.

He paced past the broad arch of an entryway inlaid with wood carvings. He eyed the inscription- Arithmancy, Fancy, History. At the peak of the arch was an open book covered in unblinking eyes.

"Hello," a voice from within said, startling him. "I don't think I've seen you here yet. Though it's not unusual for the first-years to only need their textbooks and their common rooms."

A witch appeared from within, her silver-streaked hair pulled back into a braid. "Don't be shy," she gestured him in. "What's your name?"

"Remus," he said, and stepped forward through the archway. 

"Oh!" her eyebrows shot up. "Well," she recovered quickly, "it's very nice to meet you, dear. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Actually," Remus gazed up at the towering expanse of shelves that rose to the very top of an arched ceiling several stories high, "do you have any books about giants?"

"You're going to have to be a bit more specific, dear," the librarian smiled at him, not unkindly.

"Oh," Remus stammered, "well, I was thinking about the ones near the castle. If you have any books on them."

"Have you got a paper to write?" she frowned.

"No," he watched her fiddle with her ring of keys clipped into a carabiner, "I've made friends with the groundskeeper, Hagrid," he blurted. "I was just curious, about giant culture. But I don't want to offend him."

"Ah," her expression cleared. "He's a sensitive man. And a good one," she deftly snatched a book from the air that had been on a straight path towards the back of Remus' head. "The reshelving charms need a bit of a systems re-tweaking. Knocked poor Stubbins out cold last week. Here we are," she gestured to the wall.

Remus peered at the titles in front of him. "Madam…,” he trailed off.

“Mx Bechdel,” she said to his left. “In the chair, if you please.”

“Mx Bechdel,” Remus said, sitting in the chair she had pointed to, “these are about troll- AH!" Remus screeched as the chair shot upward like a rocket, his hands clinging desperately to the edges of the seat.

"I think you'll find what you're looking for in this section," Mx Bechdel's voice came from below as she gently floated upwards, standing on her own chair.

"Thank you," Remus stuttered, peering at the volumes in front of him. They were, in fact, several volumes on giant culture, and one bound scroll of parchment labeled "The fearsome mountain-dwelling Giant beyond the Castle."

"Don't shout if you need me," her chair reversed course. "Just give a whisper."

Remus leaned forward, then back again as the chair wobbled. He reached a hand out to grab the scroll and two books that looked like they'd been written in the past hundred years, then sat with the stack on his lap.

"Er," Remus felt around the unremarkable sides of the wooden chair. "Down?"

He remained suspended about four stories above the ground below, and quickly looked back up at the shelf in front of him. He palmed his wand from the pocket of his robes, hand clammy. 

"Down," he poked the chair. "Descend..eo?" 

At once, the chair shot back down to the floor. Remus, however, was not in it.

In the span of seconds, Remus flailed like a bird flipped in a strong gust of wind, dropped like a stone, and thought _this was not how I imagined dying._ He laughed, and saw the flash of an alcove tucked between shelves before he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Arresto momentum!" Mx Bechdel’s voice cut through the silence of the library, and the books that had flung themselves from Remus' arms were suspended in the air. 

A few feet later, Remus' body jerked as if caught by an invisible net, and all of the air left his lungs for a few agonizing moments.

Remus floated gently to the ground as his books sailed over his head and into Mx Bechdel’s arms.

"The safety charms don't work on inanimate objects," she placed the books down on a table. "You alright there, dear?"

"Fine," Remus gasped. 

"Next time, just grab hold of the chair and say 'descendeo.' Bit of a trick to it, can't be too forceful," she helped him upright.

Remus looked around at the other students clustered in groups at the tables, most of whom were peering curiously over at the ruckus.

"When I fell," Remus said, "I thought I saw a ledge, like a little room, in the shelves."

"Did you?" Mx Bechdel mused. "Can you show me where?"

"Yeah, it's-" Remus pointed, but there was nothing but a great wall of shelves and the high windows between.

"Doesn't look like it's there," she handed his books back with a wink, then hopped to catch yet another wayward book whizzing toward a table of Ravenclaws. "Really must work on these reshelving charms now," she redirected the book to one of the short shelves near the front of the library. "Skulls are more delicate than you might think!"

Remus spent the next two hours hovering where he was so certain he'd seen the hidden alcove, but found only books. There were thousands of them, and no shelf was an illusion- he'd pulled books from each to be sure. Eventually, he took an empty table to read the books he'd found on giants. He was about to give up midway through the scroll of parchment that detailed the exploits of Wexelton the Wily Wanderer among the giant tribes in Scotland, at least half of which Remus was fairly sure was fictional. 

_The Giantes are moste reluctant to leave their mountain caverns,_ Wexelton noted, _and indeed, have not been remembered to have done so even once in the minds of locals for many centuries._

Remus flipped urgently through the pages, imagining great caverns large enough to hold a tribe of giants in the mountains beyond the school, but to his disappointment Wexelton seemed more interested in learning their whereabouts so that he might have the head of one on his spear.

*

Having missed dinner but pleasantly exhausted, his mind spinning with unanswered questions, Remus made his way back up to Gryffindor Tower. He quickly pushed through the gossip in the common room on Sirius, which had turned several curious heads towards him. 

In their room, Peter and Bertram played a game of wizard's chess on Peter's bed. The curtains of James' bed were shut. 

Sirius was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey Remus," Peter greeted. "You missed dinner."

"Yeah, er," Remus dropped his bag with a pained smile, "I just can't seem to figure out the locking charms."

"We'll catch you up," Peter gestured him over. "Want a biscuit?"

At that moment, the door banged open, and a red-faced, puffy-eyed Sirius appeared, strode across the room, and flung the curtains of his bed closed behind him. 

The room went very quiet, Bertram peering over with his hand in his pocket. 

"They took my wand," Sirius grumbled from behind the velvet curtain. "Won't be able to murder you lot in your sleep."

Bertram looked unconvinced at this. 

"I've got to give Weatherby a letter before curfew," Remus stood. 

Bertram's eyes went round. "We'll come with you!"

"It's freezing out," Remus tried, "you don't want-"

"We insist!" Bertram cut him off. "Think I need a bit of fresh air, plus I've never seen the owlery."

"Alright," Remus put his coat on, eager to leave the room as soon as possible. Bertram and Peter hadn't bothered to lace their shoes before they were shrugging their cloaks on.

The curtains to James' bed snapped open. "I'll come," he said shortly.

"I'm really just," Remus' eyes darted to Sirius' bed, "going to send a letter."

"Fantastic," James pulled his cloak on with a snap of fabric. Remus thought he heard a seam rip. 

"Right," Remus sighed. 

The trek to the owlery in the lamp lit evening was bitterly cold, the wind cutting through their cloaks so that James had to grit his teeth pretending not to shiver.

Remus trudged up the stairs with grim determination, knees aching. He glared at the moon overhead, waxing full. The others had fallen behind, huffing breaths that clouded the air. They were all silent except for the chattering of their teeth, and put one foot in front of the other while they gripped the handrail.

Finally, Remus rounded the corner to view the droppings-stained roosts of the owlery, and sighed in relief as the warming charms hit.

The only other occupant of the owlery jumped about a foot in the air, her hand jerking back from the owl whose foot she'd been untying a letter from.

"Oh! Remus, dear," Professor Lichen moved to stand between Remus and the owl. "You startled me."

The other boys groaned in relief as they entered the heated room.

"Well, I've got to dash!" Professor Lichen pushed past them and hurried down the stairs.

"Remus, mate," James grasped his shoulder with icy fingers, "take your time."

"Hullo, Weatherby," Remus greeted his parent's owl with a chunk of biscuit. 

"Good Lord!" Bertram gaped at the owl next to Weatherby, whose great protuberant yellow eyes stared at them with pinpoint pupils. "What is that thing?"

"Professor Lichen's owl, I think," Remus started tying a note to Weatherby's leg. "She just took a letter from it."

"Odd that it didn't go to her, if it was her owl," Peter eyed it. The owl, sensing it was being watched, opened its beak to reveal a wide diamond-shaped maw and let out not a hoot but a moaning growl.

"The demon bird!" James shouted.

"The what?" Remus gave Weatherby a final pat, eyeing the creature next to him. 

"Thatwasthedemonbirdthatwastherethenightwiththesecretroom," James summarized.

"It would be difficult to miss," Bertram peered at it.

"Wait, the night with the tiara?" Peter said. 

"Tiara?" Remus asked.

By the time they'd made it back to the common room, James had managed to narrate in dramatic detail the night of the disappearing room, the demon bird, and the tiara.

"Hey," Peter handed James a biscuit from his stash, "you reckon you could remember the voice of the woman he was talking to?"

"Prolly," James replied through a mouthful of biscuit.

"Well," Peter mused, "could it have been Professor Lichen?"

James stared at Peter as if he'd never seen him before. "Now that you mention it, yeah."

The curtains to Sirius' bed snapped open, revealing his face through a tangle of black hair. "Maybe it was his bird. 'S why she didn't want it coming to her in the Great Hall."

"Bugger off, Black," James growled.

An expression flashed over Sirius' face too quickly to read, settling to one of cool detachment. "Right," he said, and disappeared back behind the curtains.

"She seemed nervous," James added after a moment, as if nothing had happened. 

"What do you reckon she's hiding?" Peter asked. 

"Sounds like a puzzle for the Scalawags," James clapped him on the shoulder.

"Scalawags?" Remus raised his eyebrows.< /p>

"I don't see you bringing anything to the table."


	11. A Very Grimmauld Christmas

When the Hogwarts Express arrived, fat flakes of snow were falling thick and fast to bury the grounds several inches deep. Several of the taller students waded through to forge paths, while others used simple charms to hover above the snow, or particularly complex charms to walk atop it. Icicles several feet long hung down from the castle's spires. The day before, one had fallen and nearly crushed Pandora Selwyn, an absent-minded Ravenclaw third-year. Though Pandora had not been bothered and indeed considered the event auspicious, Hagrid gathered a barrel of bundimun for Professor Flitwick to levitate and release upon the cascades of ice. The pest had the happy side effect of releasing large amounts of acid, which dissolved the ice and sometimes small patches of roofing tiles. When a loud crack signaled a particularly impressive icicle was about to fall, Hagrid had to keep back a tide of Gryffindor fourth years who rushed to take hold of a spike with which they could duel. 

When the train arrived, it was covered in icicles that blew backward from its front, which made it resemble a large and unwieldy mace. Several professors gathered the prefects and head boys and girls to set about de-icing it, but this was made particularly difficult by the fact that a student, strongly suspected to be Davey Gudgeon, had charmed it to explode into multiplying fractals every time they made the attempt. Jon Wang, the Gryffindor beater, was working intently on an ice sculpture that had begun to resemble a pair of buttocks. 

The remainder of the students that had not fled back inside for warm mugs of butterbeer from Hogsmeade were in the midst of a fierce inter-house rivalry snowball fight. Only one student, Sirius Black, sat alone in the courtyard and watched as the Gryffindors rained a hail of snowballs on the Ravenclaws that had breached their house-sized igloo fortifications. 

James and Peter had nearly flown past Sirius on their way to join the other Gryffindor first-years. He kicked at a stone pillar with envy as Bertram transfigured a snowball the size of his head to pelt one of the Ravenclaws. Even Snivellus looked like he was having fun in his own way, the bastard. 

Sirius had still not been given his wand back, and was only allowed to use it during class under the careful eye of a teacher. Even then, his wand felt odd, as if it were working through a layer of static. 

A Hufflepuff first year had come back to retrieve her scarf from her trunk, and upon noticing Sirius silently brooding, fled like she'd seen a Grim. 

Sirius sighed and nearly wished that the train would be de-iced faster, though that only meant he would be home sooner. _Out of the frying pan, and into the fire,_ he thought cheerily. 

He'd been surprised, at first, that his mother hadn't been waiting in Dumbledore's office when the door finally opened and he stared down at Sirius with a somber frown. The mystery was resolved when he received a letter from his parents the next day saying that the Department for the Protection of Underage Witches and Wizards had paid them a visit. They were not pleased, though this was only one item in a long list of reasons Sirius did not look forward to facing them. 

Sirius perked up as Remus emerged from the castle, looking pale and shaky as he dragged his battered trunk into the courtyard.

"Hey," Sirius waved, and Remus' eyes went wide for a moment before he gave Sirius a careful smile.

"Hey," Remus dragged his trunk over to drop it a few feet from Sirius'.

It had not escaped Sirius' attention that Remus hadn't done more than answer him with a word or two for the past month, but in the very least Remus pretended that he was normal. Or that they were friends. 

"You look like you've swallowed a mouse," Sirius gave him a once-over. 

"Rat, actually," Remus winced. "Sorry, I've got to," Remus pointed at James, who was waving him over. He looked relieved. 

"Yeah," Sirius stared at his feet, and brooded some more until the Hogwarts Express was ready to board to London. 

It seemed that everyone would rather crowd into other compartments or sit on the floor than sit next to Sirius Black. He'd thought that once he got to Hogwarts things would be better for him, but it now seemed like they never would. The sorting hat was right: once a Black, always a Black. 

London was everything Hogwarts was not; dreary, gray, with evening commuters tucking their heads down against windy flurries of snow that did not stick to the ground. 

Sirius watched the other students be picked up by a waiting crowd of parents. A woman in a long, patched overcoat who must be Remus' mom was gesturing with excitement at the platform wall while Remus smiled and nodded.

No one was waiting for Sirius, even though his mother had given him strict instructions to come home. What would he do, he wondered, if the platform door closed? Should he go through now, or remain where he was?

"Sirius!" 

He turned to peer through the nearly empty platform, and with a rush of relief saw that Regulus was waiting for him. Kreacher was with him, looking sullen as he held Regulus' hand.

At least he had Regulus, Sirius felt lighter as he carried his trunk over. He would always have his brother, even if he cocked everything up.

"Mistress has told Kreacher to pick up Master Sirius Black from the platform," Kreacher's gravelly voice was so low he could barely hear it over the train. "Master Regulus told Kreacher he must go, because he is a good boy and cares for his family." Kreacher squinted at Sirius' Gryffindor scarf. "Unlike rude, ungrateful Master Sirius Black-"

"Reg," Sirius greeted him with a swooping hug, which Regulus looked a bit startled by. "How've things been without me? Boring?"

"You have a way of making your presence felt," Regulus raised an eyebrow, "even when you're not there."

"She's pissed, isn't she," Sirius summarized. 

Regulus sighed. "Kreacher, let's go home now."

"Yes, Master Regulus," Kreacher grabbed Sirius' hand in his cold, clammy one, and disapparated.

Sirius' mother didn't emerge when he arrived home; Kreacher simply apparatus to his room and locked him in. Sirius paced the narrow length for hours. He was bored, that was all. Gryffindors weren't afraid. 

When Sirius' bedroom door opened for dinner, he was so relieved that he dashed down the stairs to the kitchen and missed Regulus' wide-eyed look of panic.

"Take that off," his mother snapped, and Sirius looked down at himself to find that he was still wearing his school uniform, Gryffindor tie and all. 

"Why?" Sirius stood where he was, arms crossed. Regulus' eyes bulged as he shook his head.

“Listen to your mother,” his father said in a carefully calm tone.

“I want to know why,” Sirius dug his heels in, and the room went so silent he could hear the gas lamps hissing. 

Walburga Black raised her wand in a sharp, abrupt motion, and Sirius' tie yanked on his neck until it sprung free to sail on the floor. He coughed, his eyes watering. 

“I hope your answer was worth it,” she narrowed her eyes. “Elf!” she snapped her fingers. 

"Yes, mistress," Kreacher apparated to her side.

"Take this selfish brat to the cellar until he learns how to speak to his parents."

"Let me go," Sirius shrank away from Kreacher, who grasped him in an unnaturally firm grip.

"Kreacher's pleasure, Mistress," the elf smiled nastily, and apparated.

The cellar’s hollow dome magnified the sounds of dripping water within, and it was pitch dark. An odd scuffling sound came from the furthest corner of the room, and Sirius ran for the stairs, feeling his way towards them in the dark. 

"I'm sorry," Sirius shouted at the door. "Dad!"

"They cannot hear Master down here," Kreacher's disembodied voice came from below. The thin, wavering light of a candle appeared with the snap of Kreacher's fingers, and Sirius rushed towards it. 

"You can't leave me down here," Sirius demanded, but Kreacher only bent to place the candle on the floor. 

"Do not let the candle go out, Master Sirius Black," Kreacher snapped his fingers, and both he and the staircase disappeared.

Sirius ran to grab the candle, and shielded the flame with his hand. 

"Mom!" he screamed, looking wildly about the room. "Reg!"

The scuffling noise started up in the corner again, and Sirius scrambled backwards.

A grey stone had appeared on the ground, lumpy and misshapen. Sirius fixed his eyes on it.

"I'm not afraid of you," he whispered, but backed away towards the other side of the room. 

When he blinked, the stone had followed him.

Hundreds of years ago, the pogrebin had journeyed to France as a stowaway when Altona Petrov married Gregoire Lestrange. It had come with the Estranges from the old country to England before Sirius' mother was born. No one knew how long it had been alive; a pogrebin could wait for decades in hibernation before it found prey.

Sirius shivered in the cold and the dark, and watched as the stone remained still and silent. Waiting.

Hours passed, wax dripping hot over Sirius' hands and onto the stone floor. No one had checked on him. He thought about what he'd read in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

 _A pogrebin leaves no trace of its prey,_ Sirius watched the rock, and swore he could see it breathing. 

_They've left me down here to die,_ Sirius thought. _I'll never make it back to Hogwarts. James-"_

But James would not look for him. James would probably be glad he was gone, like all the other students. Even the Ministry would probably just be glad he was off their hands. Maybe they would think he'd run away, or something.

"Regulus," he said, wavering. His legs trembled from standing so long. Regulus cared about him. Regulus would know what happened. 

_Regulus will be glad to be rid of you,_ a nasty voice in side his head said. _Mother's probably been taking out her anger on him while you've been away. You're selfish, and cruel, and Regulus deserves better than you. You always failed to protect him._

Water dripped onto Sirius' head, and he shivered. More drops fell, and Sirius felt his stomach plummet when he heard a soft hiss. The candle! He'd been so distracted by his thoughts that he hadn't been paying attention. 

In the wavering light, the stone moved. A great, bulbous head like a tumorous mass rose to reveal small, dark eyes. A hairy torso unfurled to extend hooked limbs of bone that scraped along the stone floor. The pogrebin swiveled its massive head to look at Sirius, and saliva dripped from its curving fangs.

The candle sputtered out, and Sirius screamed. 

Sharp claws clambered at Sirius' robes before the candle lit again and he spotted the creature. He might not have his wand, but he was still a wizard. He felt adrenaline crashing through his body, and kicked out at the pogrebin, which hissed and shrank away, folding down into a rock.

Sirius retreated, his hand covering the candle, and watched the wax drip over his fingers as the wick grew shorter.

*

"Sirius!" Regulus' voice hissed. "Sirius!" the voice came again, more panicked.

Sirius had curled down to the floor, his body shielding the remains of the spluttering candle. The rock had come to rest only inches away. He scrambled backward. 

"Reg?" he called.

"Here," Regulus whispered from the cellar door. A covered plate of food floated down, and a long pillar candle. 

"Let me out," Sirius called.

Sirius could just make out Regulus' face in the low light when he shook his head. "You know they'll just put me down there with you."

"Please," Sirius felt panic rise in his chest. "It'll kill me."

"Mum just fed it a week ago," Regulus said dismissively. 

"Reg," Sirius begged, but Regulus didn't move. 

"Why'd you have to antagonize her?" Regulus' voice was almost pleading. "If you'd just-"

"If I'd just what," Sirius felt anger flare in him, hot and bright. How could Regulus say that? "She's wrong! They're evil nutters, and if you agree with them you're on their side, not mine!"

"Someone's coming," Regulus said, and shut the door. 

Sirius grabbed the new candle and lit it before he ate the food. 

He eyed the lumpy grey rock as it moved closer. No matter what Regulus had said, he'd thought it had looked hungry.

*

When Kreacher finally released Sirius from the cellar, he had lost track of time. It could have been a few days or a week; it was hard to tell when he couldn't see the sun. He found himself squinting and blinking, even in the low light of the gas lamps of Grimmauld Place, where bright sunshine rarely found its way through the slits of barred windows in brick. 

When Sirius made it up to his room, he nearly shut the door on Regulus' foot.

"It's Christmas dinner," Regulus informed him, his arms crossed over his chest and eyes wary. "You should get dressed."

Sirius ignored him, yanking his wardrobe open and pulling out a set of robes. 

"It'll be fine," Regulus said awkwardly. "Just- don't make them mad again." 

"They'd've found a reason to be mad," Sirius glared at him. 

"They were angrier than I've ever seen them, after you got sorted into Gryffindor" Regulus admitted, "Aunt Narcissa told mum that you've made friends with half-bloods, and are getting into all sorts of trouble."

"That's right," Sirius snapped, though he felt a pang of doubt at the mention of his friends. "Piss off, Reg."

"Fine," Regulus said, his brow furrowing. He went down the stairs, leaving Sirius to trail behind.

When they arrived in the downstairs kitchen, Sirius' mother and father sat at the table, waiting. There was an elaborate spread of meats, pies, and something fluorescent green that resembled frog's eggs. 

"You're late," Walburga Black narrowed her eyes at the both of them.

It didn't matter that this had been constructed exactly so he would be late. Sirius knew better than to argue.

"It's my fault," he said, drawing her gaze away from Regulus. "Sorry, mother."

"Well," she took this in stride, looking him over. "I can see you're dressed more appropriately, this time." Sirius bit his tongue at this, and felt as if his mother noticed, and was pleased by it. 

"Sit down," his father ordered, and Sirius and Regulus sat in tandem.

Kreacher took great pains to serve them their courses of meals in an impeccable and timely manner, only spilling gravy on Sirius' lap twice. Sirius got to hear the updates on Aunt Narcissa, her boyfriend Lucius Malfoy, the Malfoy family in general, and that the latest in the Black family was that Uncle Alphard would no longer be invited to Sunday dinner due to a betrayal that was apparently unspeakable. 

Orion Black asked his son about his grades in his courses, but after Sirius answered this to his father's satisfaction, he was asked nothing more about school. It was as if he'd never left for Hogwarts, and life at Grimmauld Place had picked up where he left off.

That night, Sirius tossed and turned, thinking about small, beady eyes and curving claws reaching out for him. He dreamed of being alone in the dark, of unheeded cries for help and a candle that spluttered out over and over again. 

Eventually, the grey light of dawn came through Sirius' window, and he still had not slept. He wrapped his blanket over his shoulder and closed the door softly behind him.

He did not want to go to the lower floors and risk running into Kreacher or his mother and father, so he ascended the tall, narrow staircase until he landed on the creaky hardwood of the top floor. 

He eyed the single room at the end of the hall, which was hardly used and nearly barren. The paintings of unremarkable but not disowned relatives hung on these walls, and one of them perked up with interest as he passed. 

"What are you doing, young Master Black?" asked a woman painted in a set of plain black robes, her hair drawn back tight into a bun. 

Sirius thought about this for a moment. "Looking for somewhere to hide," he said. 

"You'll want to be going up, then," she pointed above her portrait.

"I'm as far up as I can go," Sirius stared at her. Could portraits go mad if they were left alone for too long?

"The attic, dear," she tutted. "A simple aberto should do the trick."

"I haven't got my wand," Sirius said. 

"You should always carry your wand," she said. "You never know-"

Sirius did not feel like explaining he was not allowed his wand back for the holiday break, as he had not yet convinced the headmaster that he wouldn't use it to do dark magic. He sized up the attic hatch, and found a fraying length of cord that rained cobwebs when he tugged it. At last, the attic door gave a great groan and fell away, dropping the roll of a ladder to smack him on the shoulder. 

Sirius' head poked through a nest of cobwebs as soon as he entered the attic, and he danced in a circle to shake them off, coughing all the while. In the very least, there did not seem to be any spiders in the attic, or anything else living for that matter. Sirius thought of the gray stone of the pogrebin and hurried to the windows, where dim light filtered through years of dust. 

After using his blanket to clear off the windows and an old chair, silver seams poking through the upholstery, the attic was nearly bearable. Sirius still sniffled from dust as he sat in his chair, surveying the loads of rubbish that were now his to peruse. 

His first find, haphazardly tossed to the floor, was a wand. He rolled it over in his hands, wondering who could've possibly left their wand in the attic. He thought of his mother feeding the pogrebin, and shuddered to think of some poor sod’s body eaten, bones and all. It did not seem so far-fetched at the moment that this wand belonged to someone who had never made it out of Grimmauld Place alive. 

"Lumos," Sirius squinted his eyes shut, and the wand gave a feeble, sputtering light. Light glowed down a crack along its side. It had been broken, but stored anyway- that made perfect sense, far more than some hapless witch or wizard getting eaten by the family pogrebin.

After a few hours, Sirius found an empty locket, which he tossed aside, three mouldering books on etiquette, two rings he dared not touch after they glowed when his wand came near, and a pile of stained handkerchiefs.

He dragged a wooden box to the center of the room and slid off its lid to join the heap he'd created. This, too, had yet another edition of _A Wizarding Ladies' Guide to Etiquette._ A Slytherin tie emerged, and Sirius tossed it on the discard heap as if it were a snake.

His fingers brushed a leather-bound volume, and he shook the dust from it. The book had no title, and looked far older than _A Wizarding Ladies' Guide._

The first several pages of the book were runes. Sirius felt his heart beat faster. He'd never seen most of these, and could only make out the occasional one- fire, enemy. Scrawled in minuscule script on the remaining pages were lists of spells, succinctly described.

For Trackiyng Enemys. Saylting Crops. Remedie for the Demented.

Sirius had no crops to salt, and thought that tracking his enemies had a certain flair to it. 

“Semita… inimignus,” he said dubiously, and pointed the wand at the floor. 

An _aguamenti_ and several charred floorboards later, Sirius approached the ancient book with caution. ‘Remedie for the Demented’ sounded useful to know in the very least, and happily unlikely to set him on fire. 

"Gaudissimus," Sirius whispered. Nothing happened, and he squinted at the tiny writing beneath the spell.

_This spelle workys better wen charymd to an objeckt._

"Right," Sirius shuffled through his pile of refuse. Beneath it were the two rings, and the empty locket.

Sirius pulled the locket up by its chain, and held the cool metal in his palm. "Gaudissimus," he pointed his wand.

Sirius breathed in deep, and let out a laugh. How incredible was this, to have found these things in this attic! The pogrebin seemed like a far-off dream, some silly tale to scare children. He was hungry- why was he hiding in this dusty attic?

He descended the ladder, and made his way down to the kitchen. His mother wasn't there, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel concerned either way. She could have hexed him with semianum sempra, and he thought it would likely roll off him like oil settling atop water. Kreacher grumbled at him as he went past, but Sirius only laughed at him. 

Mid-sandwich, he remembered that he would be going back to Hogwarts in a few days. He needed to plan a prank to be remembered! Then everyone would love him again, he was sure of it. He peered at the remainder of his sandwich, which had been stained with a light purple residue from the fingers that had been rubbing the locket. Leaving the sandwich behind, he retreated to his room to plan, ideas pouring from him faster than he could put ink to paper. 

A few hours later, the spell had worn off, but Sirius had only to clasp the locket again for the creeping anxiety and doubt in his chest to disappear. Hours and days flew past in a blur of energy, and he thought about little else but his many plans for the future.


	12. The Third Eye

After the break, Professor Goldberg had announced to delight of the Gryffindors that they would begin practicing jinxes. 

Some had taken to their first, the Knockback Jinx, with a bit more gusto than others. 

"Flipendo," James growled as he stabbed his wand at Sirius, who flipped ass over teakettle as he sailed through the air.

"A bit more control if you please, Mr. Potter!" Professor Goldberg surveyed her classroom, which had broken off into its customary pairs. 

"Flipendo," Peter said dubiously, and flicked his wand at Remus, who felt as if he was on the Underground and had stopped abruptly, but kept his feet.

"Bit more confidence, Peter," Remus encouraged yet again. He straighten, and pointed his wand at Peter, who closed his eyes as Sirius sailed through the air yet again. "Flipendo!" Remus commanded, and Peter slid back across the floor. 

"Excellent form, Mr. Lupin!" Professor Goldberg peered across the room at them, hands on her hips. 

Peter sighed. "I'm just not cut out for this," he dodged the Professor's gaze. "Besides, when will I need to jinx someone?"

"Well, what if a kappa tried to drown you? Or a red cap-"

Peter laughed. "If a kappa found me, I'd let it eat me."

"No you wouldn't," Remus snapped. "You're not taking this seriously. Try harder."

"Alright, alright," Peter eyed him warily. "Flipendo," he struck out, and Remus slid several feet across the floor.

"Sorry," Remus apologized when the hour ended. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.” 

"It's alright," Peter shrugged. "We're all a bit," he watched James storm out of the classroom, "off."

Remus packed his things slowly, waiting for James and Sirius to clear the room, and watched Peter trail after them. He still felt on edge; he knew it wasn't fair, and that Peter hadn't meant anything by what he said, but it was difficult not to catch James and Sirius' moods when he spent every day within a few feet of them. 

"Penny for your thoughts," Professor Goldberg said, making him jump.

"It's nothing," Remus said a bit too sharply, and winced.

"I see," she leaned against her desk, reaching back for a tin. "Shortbread?"

Remus hoisted his bag onto his good shoulder, and accepted the biscuit. It was Walker's brand, just like his mom bought when they had the money.

"Thank you," Remus peered at the photographs on her desk, which he'd never stopped to notice before. He didn't feel much like talking about James or Sirius; speaking about one or the other felt too much like taking sides, when neither of them had found a reason to be mad at him yet.

Remus glanced around, looking for something else that he might talk about. "Who is that?" Remus pointed at a still picture, a muggle picture, of a man carrying a baby on his back and smiling. 

"My husband," Professor Goldberg tapped the photo. "And my son."

"Oh," Remus said, surprised. He paused for a long moment.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?” Professor Goldberg sat on the edge of her desk.

"I know we don't cover giants this year," Remus said. "But I've some questions that I couldn't find answers to in the library." 

"I'm not surprised you've gone a bit ahead of the curriculum," she crossed her arms over her chest. "Go on, I'll do my best."

"Well," Remus hedged, "I've become friends with the groundskeeper, Hagrid, and he's said giants in the mountains have left their caves, and come into the forest. But that can't be right- giants don't usually leave their caves, do they?"

Professor Goldberg looked at him intently for a long moment, as if assessing him. Her gaze drifted out of the classroom window, over the castle grounds. "No, they do not," she said simply. "Hagrid shouldn't have told you that, Remus, so I'd appreciate it if you don't spread any gossip."

"But, Professor," Remus couldn't help but be excited- Professor Goldberg was the first teacher he'd asked who admitted something odd was happening. "Could that be what's made the forest attack Hagrid's garden? Whatever's made the giants leave their caves?"

Professor Goldberg shook her head. "You need to leave it alone.”

“But,” Remus started.

"Remus,” the professor put her palm down on the desk, and gave him a stern look. “Take your studies seriously. That's the best thing you can do right now."

"Yes, Professor," Remus said, and felt her eyes follow him all the way into the corridor. 

Remus had intended to share what he'd learned as soon as he got back to the dormitory, but it seemed his presence had broken the stony silence between James and Sirius, and both were determined to have him choose who he would spend the afternoon with. Peter and Bertram were nowhere to be seen. 

"I've got to go to the library," Remus hurriedly shouldered his bag again. 

"That's all you ever do anymore," James scowled. "It's not as if you need to study."

"Sorry," Remus said quickly as Sirius narrowed his eyes. 

When he entered the stairway, he nearly slammed into Bertram, who was walking down from the floor above.

"Hullo," Remus babbled. "Haven't seen you the past few nights. Did McGonagall accept your transfer?"

"No," Bertram crossed his arms. "I've decided sleeping on the floor with the others upstairs is better than living in there another night," he inclined his head towards the room Remus had just left. "And you'd best keep quiet about it." 

"'Course," Remus nodded. "Can't blame you, really."

Bertram softened, his arms uncrossing. "Well. I don't envy your position. I'd offer you a spot upstairs, but," he whispered, "Black and Potter might notice." 

"I'm alright," Remus said unconvincingly. "They're not so bad."

"Right," Bertram said.

"I've got to go," Remus pushed past him, and thought about the undemanding company of hundreds of dusty books and the hushed shuffle of paper.

*

Remus relaxed as soon as he entered the library with its low, warm glow of oil lamps and the comfort with which everyone inside utterly ignored his entrance. He made his way back to the section on giants he'd been carefully making his way through, levitating the chair only to pause and stare at the bindings. There was nothing here, he knew, that might tell him more about what was happening in the forest. He could look at some other section- perhaps read through the first-hand accounts written by vampires, which had looked quite interesting the other day.

But he found he had no interest in searching for that, or for anything else. He simply sat on his chair, and felt a nagging sense of boredom. He wished he could ask what Sirius thought about what Professor Goldberg had said, or explore the castle with James under his invisibility cloak. He leaned back in his chair, and it wobbled dangerously. He thought about the alcove he swore he'd seen his first day in the library, when he’d fallen off his chair.

Could it be that he had to fall to see it again? There was only one way to be sure, and it couldn’t hurt to try. Remus held his breath, tilted backwards, and fell off the chair.

A high, panicked scream distracted him from scanning the shelves, and he huffed as his back hit the magical safety net and the air left his lungs. He heard the quick slap of feet on the stone floor, and turned to look behind him.

"Are you ok?" Lily Evans said breathlessly, her face tight with concern. Mx Bechdel had not even looked up from sending off the returned books to be reshelved.

"Hullo," Remus said, upside-down. 

"Oh," Lily rested her hands on her hips, frowning down at him. "You're one of Sirius Black's friends, aren't you?"

"I don't know," Remus answered honestly, and rolled onto his feet. 

"Well," Lily stared at him as he sat back in the chair, which had made its way back to the floor. When he reached the section on giants again, he tipped back and fell. He'd just caught a glimpse of the room, heart pounding with excitement, when Lily gasped and broke his concentration.

"Ow," Remus complained as he hit the magical barrier for the second time.

"You are one chip short of a meal, aren't you," Lily frowned down at him.

"I saw a room," Remus explained, scanning the shelves fruitlessly.

"I don't see anything," Lily followed his gaze.

"It's a hidden room," Remus got back into the chair, and held the seat as he ascended.

"Right," Lily frowned, but dragged one of the chairs over from the study tables and rose next to him. "Where did you see it?"

"I saw it when I fell," Remus paused by the books on giants. "But I keep having trouble finding it again."

"Oh," Lily's eyes widened, "maybe it's unplottable!"

"What?" Remus tilted his head toward Lily, whose chair now hovered beside his.

"I've been doing some reading, trying to catch up," Lily peered at him. "Are you muggleborn too?"

"No," Remus said, and Lily's expression fell. "Not exactly. My mom's a muggle."

"Well. Normally, you can't find an unplottable location unless you already know where it is. Or it chooses to show itself to you," Lily peered up along the seemingly endless rows of books, neatly filed to the ceiling high above. She eyed Remus leaning back in his chair. “Are you really going to do that again?"

"Yep," Remus replied, and pitched sideways. _Exactly where it is,_ Remus thought in the split second that the room reappeared. _I have to remember-_ he noticed them suddenly, the four bright blue books that framed the room. He hit the magical barrier with a force that left him gasping for air, but he grinned up at the wall in front of him. The room had not disappeared.

Remus hovered up on his chair to the room, and Lily descended to meet him there.

"Do you see it?" Remus asked, touching the edge of the room, his hand fully inside the space.

"Where?" Lily's hand pressed against the opening, but it was solid to her touch.

"The blue books," Remus explained, pointing. "They're the corners. Here," he showed her. Lily pressed against the space, and finding it no longer solid, tipped off her chair and into the room.

"I love magic," Lily rolled up onto her feet, looking around.

Remus peered out at the library to see whether anyone was watching him, and followed Lily in. The room was larger inside than it had seemed from the outside, but still barely enough to hold a sun-bleached couch and a single writing desk. A circular panel of stained glass allowed some light into the space, blue-tinged from the image of a raven laid within. For a moment, Remus thought he saw a pearlescent shimmer in the corner of the room, but then it was gone. 

"I wonder how many rooms like this there are in the castle," Lily sprawled out on the couch, which seemed to swallow her between its cushions. "They could be anywhere. Hidden in plain sight."

"How would we find them?" Remus asked.

Lily laughed. "Well, that's the whole point of making them unplottable, isn't it?"

“S’pose,” Remus conceded.

“I’ve got to go," Lily announced, heaving herself up off the couch. "Marlene and Dorcas have probably started searching for me."

Remus stared at the room for another long moment, taking in the peaceful hush, the smell of old books, and the blue light filtering through the raven, whose eye swiveled to peer inquisitively at the room's occupant. 

By the time Remus had made his way to the floor of the library, Lily had been accosted by two older girls. One of them had her long hair swept back into a tight braid and wore a trailing Ravenclaw scarf that disappeared into her loose robes. The other had her hair cropped short, and wore a Slytherin tie. She also had a snake draped around her neck, and it tasted the air curiously as Remus approached.

"Could've sworn we'd already looked here," the Slytherin girl said, eyeing Lily. The other girl flanked her, giving Lily a puzzled eyebrow. Remus slipped away, taking this as his cue to leave. He didn't feel much like talking, anyhow.

"This is Remus," Lily introduced, startling him. She snatched at the sleeve of his robes, as if to keep him from moving away. "We were just-"

"Looking for books on the forest," Remus added quickly. He did not want to share his new hiding spot, especially with people he didn't know. 

Lily, thankfully, seemed to understand. "We've heard all sorts of stories about it," she gave Remus a significant look.

"A-about the plants there, and how they attack people," Remus babbled.

"Oh," the Ravenclaw girl laughed, "you've been listening to Professor Moonstone."

"Why do you say that?" Remus asked.

"Oh, that bat was obsessed with the forest last year. Used to have classes there, sometimes." the Slytherin girl rolled her eyes. "But I wouldn't put too much stock in anything she says."

"Haven't heard of a prediction she's gotten right," the Ravenclaw girl confirmed. "I'm Dorcas, by the way. And this is Marlene," she poked the Slytherin girl in the shoulder.

“This is Crusher,” Marlene introduced the snake with a gentle stroke on its head.

"Nice to meet you all," Remus said, nodding to each of them in turn. His eyes lingered on the snake, and Marlene smirked. "Er, do you know how to get to the Divination classroom?"

"It's a bit complicated," Dorcas began.

"And it can wait 'till after dinner. Come on, we can sit together," Marlene invited, ushering them out of the library.

"I thought," Remus stopped, but found that the three girls were waiting for him to finish. "Don't we have to sit at our house tables?"

Lily frowned at this, but Marlene only snorted. "I'd like to see anyone try and stop me," Marlene said simply, and followed Lily to an open bench at the Gryffindor table. 

Remus could see James and Sirius sitting pointedly away from each other. Peter had wedged himself between them, and was happy to be the sole focus of Sirius' attention. James' eyes scanned the table, and Remus sat quickly, ducking his head. 

Lily, of course, sat next to him, which was where James' gaze naturally drifted. His eyes boggled when he spotted Remus, and he began a complicated series of head wiggles and flapping hands meant to communicate something, Remus was sure.

James was a bit difficult to ignore for the rest of dinner, but Remus managed as he attempted to remember Dorcas' instructions for reaching the divination classroom, which was not only at the top of a spiral tower but up a hidden ladder. 

When Sirius left, James began to snoop in on the conversation, and decided the divination tower sounded like a fascinating adventure. It was, in the least, James’ right to ask any questions about the forest, since he had gone through the trouble of being attacked by it.

*

Sirius left the Great Hall while the tables were still full of chattering students. The laughter and shouting seemed to die to hushed whispers and turned backs wherever he walked, and he was glad to find the corridors empty. 

Sirius fingered the locket idly, and breathed a sigh of relief. The tight feeling in his chest faded, but even after several minutes of roaming the corridors with the locket in hand, he found that it was not the same as when he’d first done the enchantment. His body did not feel as if it were flying, his brain singing, the world at his fingertips and his to command. All the prank ideas he had come up with in a flurry of energy now seemed useless at best. 

When Sirius withdrew his fingers from his pocket, he rubbed them idly on his robes. The purple residue had begun to stain his fingers deep, down through the nail beds. 

"It is rare to see someone your age turning that particular shade of lilac," the headmaster said softly. Sirius jumped; the headmaster's tread was whisper-quiet, and he hadn't noticed him approaching. 

"A lovely color," the headmaster mused, "one of my favorites, in fact." He smiled at Sirius. "But, forgive me, I don't believe it suits you."

"I have to, get back to the tower," Sirius said quickly, not meeting his eyes. "I've got a paper-"

"For transfiguration, yes," Dumbledore nodded. "It is that dreaded time for first-years that Minerva so anticipates." He waved a hand. "Off you go, then."

Sirius nodded, and all but dashed to the tower. He nearly slammed into Remus, who had opened the door to leave their room.

"Hey," Sirius said.

"Hey," Remus looked at him oddly. 

"Did you hear about Davey Gudgeon?" Sirius asked, a bit too loudly. 

"What about him?" Remus cocked his head. 

"Nearly lost an eye trying to touch the trunk of the Whomping Willow," Sirius laughed. "Professor Lichen about yelled his ear off, said he’d injured a rare and priceless specimen."

"Is he alright?" Remus asked anxiously.

"Yeah, think so," Sirius said. "Still in the hospital wing, last I heard."

"I'll go check on him," Remus said at once, but Sirius shook his head. 

"Nah, Pomfrey won't let anyone in. He just keeps telling everyone how close he got. Hey," Sirius peered at Remus' neck, which was lit from the side from one of the room's lamps. "When'd you get that?" he pointed to a deep, freshly healed cut.

"Over break. Fell out of a tree,” Remus shrugged, and laughed at himself. 

"In the winter?" Sirius asked, frowning.

"'S not that cold," Remus said, flinching away from Sirius' hand. "I've got to go," he said, speeding past faster than Sirius had ever seen him move.

Sirius surveyed the empty room, thought about the scroll of parchment he was meant to fill, and idly fingered the locket in his pocket.  
*  
When Remus entered the common room, James was surrounded by a cluster of Gryffindors. He waved his hands animatedly as he demonstrated what was apparently a getaway from the muggle police via broom. Peter was clearly impressed, while several of the older students shook their heads in disbelief.

James spotted Remus, and stopped mid-sentence. "And that was that!" he said loudly. He strode over to Remus, Peter trailing him. 

"That'd be really something," Remus said, handing James his bag with his invisibility cloak inside, "if it'd happened."

"Yeah," James sighed. "One day, maybe. How long've we got 'till curfew?"

"Half an hour," Peter said from behind Remus. As James strode ahead through the portrait hole, Peter dropped his voice. "Thanks," he told Remus. "I was worried if we left him alone with Sirius, they might actually murder each other this time."

James scowled. "I'm not the one whose ancestors are all murderers. And torturers. And necromancers."

"Right," Peter said. "Remus, where are we off to?"

"Up," Remus said succinctly, walking to the end of the corridor.

When they reached the foot of a long, spiral staircase, the three boys craned their necks, squinting to see where it might end. 

"It'll take us 'til curfew to get up there," Peter said morosely.

"Good thing we've got the cloak to get back, then," James said, dashing up the steps two at a time. 

When Remus and Peter finally reached the top of the tower, James was sitting on the bottom rung of a ladder that hung from the ceiling. 

"Bit tricky to find," James looked up at the nearly seamless trapdoor. He swung in place, feet not touching the ground. "Had some time though, figured it out."

"I didn't think I gave you the password," Remus gazed up into the dark hole in the ceiling.

"Oh, yeah," James started climbing. "Like I said, figured it out." 

The divination classroom gave the impression of a large orb, circular and enclosed. It was lit by a single dim lamp further within, which reflected oddly off the many crystal balls arranged into a pyramid to their right and a careful cube of teacups to their left that defied gravity. The seat cushions and tablecloths were richly embroidered with shining metallic threads. A broad chair that could only be described as a throne sat in the center of the room, and upon its crushed velvet cushion perched Professor Tourmaline, slumped over a large crystal globe.

"Professor?" James called, but there was no response.

"Maybe she's in a trance," Peter watched the Professor's slumped form anxiously. "Prophesying."

At that moment, a loud snore rose from the chair, followed by a soft snorting noise.

Peter, having prepared himself to bolt, startled at the noise and slipped on a trailing table cloth, smashing into one of the spindly wooden tables. A crystal ball flew into the air and hovered there, caught.

"If you please, dear," came the Professor's clear voice from the center of the room, and Peter scrambled upright. The shattered pieces of the table that lay on the floor around him shivered and spun until every splinter had been replaced. The table cloth righted itself, and the crystal ball perched carefully atop it. 

"Sorry," Peter held himself very still.

"Predicting the future is the art of bringing order to chaos," the Professor said, straightening the lapels of her blazer. "I have been well prepared for this occurrence."

"Dorcas sent us," Remus began. "She said you were an expert on the forest."

"She did?" the Professor's brow furrowed. "Come closer, dear."

Hesitantly, Remus shuffled forward into the light of the table lamp.

"Oh my," she said, reaching out to grab his palm in a steely grip and turn it face up. "Oh, I'm so sorry, dear."

"What is it?" Peter asked as Remus took his hand away with some difficulty.

"I sense... a terrible illness," she stared into Remus' eyes, which went very wide at this pronouncement. "One that will bring great strife to you and your loved ones. Yes," she sighed, "you have a terribly thankless and lonely road ahead."

There was a pregnant silence at this pronouncement, wherein Peter gaped and Remus went still enough to have been petrified.

"Is your mother well?" Professor Tourmaline asked, eyes lined with concern. 

"Oh," Remus said, sounding relieved. "Yes. We came to ask-" 

"Why's the forest attacking people?" James chimed in.

The Professor gasped loudly, and all the boys jumped. She reached out for James, and Remus shoved him forward, happy to be out of the spotlight. 

Professor Tourmaline's hand shook as she took James' palm in hers. "I sense your future will determine the fate of all magical beings in this world and the next," she said, as if to herself. She studied James intently. "What is your family line, child?"

"The Potters," James said, puffing his chest out proudly. 

The Professor seemed to mull this over for a moment. "Hmm. Yes, I am an expert on the forest," she said finally. "The ability of the native flora to open the third eye to prophecy is unparalleled."

"Right," James said politely. "Is it attacking people because of the giants?"

"Giants? In the forest?" the Professor frowned. "Mr. Potter, do you know if your family-"

"What about me?" Peter asked suddenly. All three heads turned toward him, and he shuffled self-consciously. "I mean- do you see anything for me?" he asked, holding his palm out.

"I see an ignominious end," the Professor did not take his hand. She blinked and looked around, as if just noticing her surroundings and the late hour. "Are you boys out past curfew?"

"Not yet," Remus said, "but we'll be sure to hurry back." He tugged at James and Peter. "It's, been a pleasure. To hear about your work."

"Of course," Professor Tourmaline shook the wrinkles from her trousers. "Come back any time," she looked at James.

As they were descending the stairs, Peter huffed that the professor was clearly as batty as Marlene had said. James disagreed, and thought they should probably go back to get more information from her.

"She didn't know anything about the giants," Remus whispered, slipping under the cloak as Argus Filch passed down the corridor at the foot of the winding staircase.

"No," James conceded. "You're right. She probably doesn't know anything."


	13. The Marauder's Code

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops I forgot to update here are two chapters for your trouble
> 
> (tbh I now loathe this fic truly the worst thing I have ever written BUT that happens you learn etc etc ALSO I have written it so might as well post??)
> 
> also sorry about typos, didn't edit~

James had taken to regularly patrolling the school corridors at night under his invisibility cloak in the hopes that he might overhear tidbits on a secret war waging in the forest, or something to that effect. By the end of the week, he had decided that stake outs were mostly long periods of sitting and leaning in awkward positions, and not at all the fun he’d been led to believe. 

The first night, he had entertained himself by waiting until Filch the caretaker turned his back to move his broom several feet from where he had left it, and watch him lose his mind screaming about students out of bed. The novelty wore off, however, and after a week he’d only found that Professor Goldberg regularly journeyed to Hogsmeade after-hours, and that Hagrid had an excessive amount of nostril hair that he trimmed with shears. 

He did attempt to enter the forest exactly once, whereupon it rustled threateningly at his arrival, and attempted to both steal his cloak and trip him into a nest of devil’s snare. In an uncharacteristic show of self-preservation, James decided it was probably not wise to enter the forest alone at night. 

He amused himself setting off stink bombs in the Slytherin dungeons, and was particularly pleased to watch Filch and the Slytherin prefects struggle to find a sewage leak. But this, too, had only fleeting satisfaction- it was not a particularly clever or challenging prank, and he was so bored he found himself returning to the common room to finish his transfiguration essay on the properties of object-object transformations several days before it was due.

Pranks were not nearly as fun without someone to run his ideas by, someone clever who would be as excited as he was when they pulled it off. He had so many thoughts and questions that died on his lips because there was no one to tell them to. 

It was quite late when James made his way back to bed, but the moon shone bright through the dormitory windows, illuminating the four other beds without the need of a candle. Peter was dead to the world, and Bertram's bed lay empty as it had for weeks now. Remus' bed was also empty, and James had a flicker of hope that he might have some thoughts on hiccupping power that did not start and end with "don't."

At once, James became aware of Sirius Black watching him. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, his hair a wild tangle. He held a quill in his right hand, and on his left forearm he had inked a messy scrawl of runes. He looked positively mad. 

They stared at one another in silence for a long moment, but then James broke his gaze. "You're cracked, Black," he muttered, and hopped into bed, pulling his curtains shut around himself. 

*

Sirius could not sleep. 

He knew that he was exhausted. His muscles jumped and shook, so much so that he had developed a persistent twitch in his left eyelid. His joints and his head ached, and he saw a curtain of black static every time he stood. But still, when he laid his head on his pillow at night, some fever-bright burn of adrenaline set his mind to racing. Again and again, he was jerked into long, persistent consciousness. 

After so many nights of twenty-minute intervals of sleep, his bed became a place of unrest, a place where he couldn't escape the cascade of fragmented thoughts in his mind. At first, he tried to spend time in the common room, but the plush cushions and crackling fire did nothing to distract him. He made his way up Gryffindor tower, to the last closed dorm room, and sat looking out the window into the dark grounds. This, too, quickly lost its appeal, and in an effort to exhaust himself into sleeping, he trudged down the stairs, then back up again, repeating the process until he saw stars. He paused, panting for breath. 

"You're a sorry sight," commented the stained glass panel of a woman holding a broadsword, who appeared to be sitting astride an unusually large lion.

Sirius sighed, and sat on the steps. "Yeah," he said, gritting his teeth against the pounding in his head. He rubbed his fingers against the locket, and wiped the purple residue on his trousers. He squinted at the inscription below the window- _Alanna of Trebond_.

"Alanna," Sirius scratched idly at the drying runes on his arm, "you seem like someone who appreciates a good adventure."

"Elaborate," she dismounted her lion, which yawned and tumbled into a lazy sprawl.

"I could use one, that's all," Sirius said. 

"I see," she pondered, leaning against her broadsword. "Have you attempted the tower above?"

"You've seen me go up it about a dozen times." 

"No, child. The tower itself," the sword pointed upward. "Unlatch the uppermost window, and take care on the ladder."

Sirius got to his feet, curious at once. "Thank you."

"I have never much been one to heed the rules," she said, sheathing her sword. She leaned forward until her nostrils seemed comically large. "But take heed- wherever you venture, you will take yourself with you."

"Right," Sirius said, and started back up the stairs. 

The latch to the final unadorned window at the top of the tower creaked with rust, but he managed to open it with a muttered _alohomora_. The rungs bolted into the side of the tower were similarly rusted with age, but sturdy. Sirius set to monkeying his way upward, uncaring of the great height and stomach-swooping drop below. He liked the great span of the moonlit sky all around him; it made him feel free, and acutely alive. 

The metal rungs were no longer covered in ice, but they were bitterly cold at night, and Sirius was glad to hoist himself into the small circular tower. He looked out over the Black Lake, eerie in the reflected silver light. 

Sirius did not know if it was worse to be one small body against the great expanse of sloping roofs and high chill towers, or to be in the castle below, surrounded by classmates that wanted nothing to do with him. Now that he was out here, he longed for warmth. His fingers drifting toward the locket, clasping it tightly. It didn't touch the chill that seemed to shake him down to his bones, and in a fit of frustration he ripped it from his neck. He felt betrayed by it, and thought about throwing it out onto the rooftop below, but found he could only hold the chain in his hand. 

"I have not seen a student in this tower for a long time," came a soft voice from behind him, and Sirius turned sharply. The headmaster stood behind him in a large, fluffy robe covered in sequined dragons. He squinted over his half-moon glasses at the grounds. 

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore only shook his head. "Quite the view, I'll admit, but I don't believe it is the season for it. Plus," he added, "the astronomy tower is far more accessible." 

"It's past curfew," Sirius said. 

Dumbledore laughed at this, broad and genuine. "And you are still in Gryffindor tower. I see," he stood for a moment, and grew more sober. "I would have thought you'd have come here with your band of midnight marauders."

"They don't want anything to do with me," Sirius said, some bitter hurt he hadn't fully realized rising in him. 

"Is this at all related to the incident with Severus?" Dumbledore asked mildly. 

"Maybe," Sirius allowed. 

"What have you attempted in order to redeem yourself?" Dumbledore looked at him, and Sirius felt as if he were a pane of glass.

"I try to talk to them," Sirius paced along the tower rails, "but they don't want to talk to me. Remus pretends to, but I can tell he doesn't really want to."

Dumbledore nodded at this, and did not contradict him. "Have you tried an apology?"

"Well," Sirius hedged. "I don't think that'll do much good."

"Ah," Dumbledore said expansively. "You'd be surprised what a sincere apology and the will to right a wrong can do."

Sirius felt as if Dumbledore were staring through him again, and he nodded, eager to be rid of the sensation. "I'll try."

"Good," the headmaster said. "And I think you ought to give me that locket."

Sirius felt his heart beat in his throat, and drew the chain back to him. "Sir?"

"I imagine the effects are no longer what they used to be," Dumbledore said, and the kindness in his voice made something in Sirius waver. 

"No," he admitted quietly. It was a relief to say it aloud, though his hand shook. 

Sirius uncurled his fingers from his palm, and studied the locket within, the purple tinge of the skin beneath. "Why did it stop working?"

"Gaudissimus is an unpredictable charm," Dumbledore replied. "And I think you may, at some point, want to explore with Madame Pomfrey why you were prone to certain... effects. But for now," he drew a small vial from his robes and handed it to Sirius, "perhaps you might substitute a sip of this for superlatives." 

Sirius took the vial, and let the locket slip again until he held only the chain. 

"Trust me," Dumbledore held out his hand, palm up. "You will not need it anymore."

Sirius dropped the locket into the headmaster's palm, and he peered at it for a moment. "A family heirloom?"

Sirius nodded. 

"I can break the charm and have it sent home," Dumbledore offered. "Is there someone you would prefer it be sent to?"

Sirius thought, for a moment, about Regulus, but he couldn't think of how he would explain himself. "Kreacher," he said finally. "Our house elf."

"Very well," the headmaster nodded. He reached out a hand, and suddenly Sirius found himself back in his dormitory. His wand lay on his bedside table, the smooth ebony handle gleaming. 

*

It was difficult, James realized, to avoid Sirius Black when they shared the same classes and slept in the same room. It was particularly difficult to avoid him when he kept trying to talk to James. 

"Hey," Sirius said for about the tenth time this particular Thursday, his body between the dormitory door and the staircase.

"Shove off, Black," James growled, and Peter and Remus went silent from where they'd been going over the five ways to repel a vampire.

"I want to talk," Sirius said stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Dunno what I'd have to talk about with you," James said, trying to shove past him. 

"I'm sorry," Sirius blurted out. 

James paused. "Sorry for what."

"I used Dark Magic," Sirius shuffled. "I know it was wrong."

"There are lines you don't cross," James said, arms crossing his chest in a mirror of Sirius. "You ought to know that."

"I do," Sirius said, and he looked over at Remus and Peter, who were silently watching the conversation. "I won't do it again."

James nodded once, short and sharp. "You'd better prove it, then."

"I really won't," Sirius said. "I don't want to be like my family. I'm a Gryffindor," he said, pushing down doubt and squaring his shoulders. "I want to make it right."

"Well," James said. "That's good, because I haven't thought of a decent prank in ages."

Sirius gave him a careful smile. "I know how to get onto the roof."

James cocked his head. "The roof," he said pensively. "You know, when you look at it right, it's basically just a giant slide."

Remus groaned, and Peter perked up. "Or like a rollercoaster," Peter said. 

"Roll-a-coaster?" Sirius asked. 

"Muggle ride," Remus explained. "Where you get in a little box, and it goes fast on a track."

"Sometimes it goes upside down," Peter said. "In loops. It's like flying."

"Yes," Sirius mused. "Except, we can actually fly."

"Brilliant," said James, pulling out a sheet of parchment and setting his glasses down. They wobbled in place; he hadn’t gotten them quite right since he’d stepped on them. "You in?" he said, raising an eyebrow at Remus and Peter. 

"I reckon it's less fun if you kill someone," Remus said, looking curious despite his tone. "So I'd better be involved."

Sirius barked a laugh, going to stand beside James and peer at the parchment. "Dumbledore called us a band of midnight marauders," he said, and James dropped the quill, peering myopically up at them. 

"The Marauders!" James declared, waving his hands around at the four of them with delight. 

"We should have a code," Remus said suddenly.

"That sounds like a fancy word for rules," Sirius frowned. 

"Even Pirates had a code," Remus said reasonably. "If we had one, we'd be sure we didn't cross any boundaries the group decided on." Sirius looked away at this, and didn't reply. 

"Lupin's right," James said. "If we're going to be ethical, upstanding men," he gave Sirius a look, "in addition to the most legendary, clever, and fearsome pranksters Hogwarts has ever seen, we need a Marauder's Code. All in favor, say aye."

"Aye," chorused Peter and Sirius. 

"Alright," Remus sat on his bed, chewing on a length of licorice. "What about no bodily harm, to start?"

"Lupin," James laughed. "A little bodily harm's good for the soul."

"No permanent maiming," Sirius suggested, and the others nodded. 

"Our pranks ought to be smart and flawless," James added. "Except for special occasions."

"Sometimes you've got to drop a dung bomb in the laundry," Peter agreed. 

"Aye," James nodded. "But in general, they ought to be impressive."

"Brute force is the last resort of the incompetent," Remus said, and the others stared at him. 

"Brilliant," James said, handing him the quill. "Write that down."


	14. The Roll-a-coaster

"And in the first Giant War of 1526..." Professor Binns droned on to a drowsy and hollow-eyed classroom. It was an unusually warm day for early spring, and the windows had been cracked open to let in the breeze. 

Most of the students took a half-hearted line of notes every couple of minutes. Remus Lupin, on the other hand, was writing with such rapidity and intensity that the black ink had begun to seep into his fingernails. A paper owl swooped low to bash him repeatedly on the head, but he paid it no mind.

The owl fluttered upright, swooping above the classroom to pause above Professor Binns' head. Poorly stifled laughter broke out, but the Professor hardly seemed to notice his students when they directly asked him a question, much less a bit of lost attention. The owl burst through his translucent torso, and he swatted absently, as if it had been a fly. 

The paper owl landed on Sirius Black's desk, gave a little shudder, and fell still. He unfolded it, and read the hastily scrawled note inside. _Acquisition?_

He met James' gaze and nodded. James slipped out of the classroom, and Sirius followed a moment later.

By dinner time, James' bag had grown suspiciously large. He sat with Sirius next to Remus and Peter, and looked alarmingly cheerful.

"What's in the bag?" Peter whispered, loud enough to be overheard by the wizard's chess club. Bertram gave the four of them a wary glance, then looked away. 

"Yes, what is in the bag?" Remus reached, and James bopped him on the nose.

"Never you mind," James said.

"'S long as it doesn't blow up my sock drawer again," Remus passed Sirius the dish of potatoes. "And you ought to have stayed in history. It might've been important."

"That was a controlled detonation," Sirius said breezily. "And as far as history goes," he cleared his throat, stooped his shoulders like an old man, and droned, "The First Giant War began in 1526. It ended in 1528 when the Great Gurg Gorklug decapitated the Gurg of the Northern Moor with a clothesline."

"That's right," Remus blinked. 

"I had a very expensive elementary education," Sirius said, and frowned. "James?"

"Mm?" James lifted his head, a forkful of potatoes hovering near his mouth. 

"That snivelly bastard is staring at us."

James turned around on the bench to look at Severus Snape. "Well," he said, continuing to bite off pieces of ham, "you did curse him. I expect he's a bit upset."

"I apologized," Sirius scowled. "Why is he smiling?"

James turned around again to peer at the Slytherin table. "It's possible he wasn't impressed. Is that a smile? Merlin, that's awful."

"Just ignore him, mate," Peter said, handing Sirius a tart.

Sirius directed his attention to the bag, which wobbled ominously.

"Sirius," Remus said urgently.

"It's fine," Sirius said, and then his hair burst into snakes.

They were a shining, iridescent black, with glowing green slits for eyes. They immediately rounded on Sirius ' face and scalp, sinking razor-sharp fangs into every inch of skin they could find. 

Sirius screamed and leapt up from the table, futilely batting the heads away from his face. They hissed madly, and redoubled their attack. 

The other Gryffindors overturned benches in their haste to get away from Sirius, and the entire hall stared as Sirius whirled around in panicked circles. 

"Madame Pomfrey," Remus said, grasping the heads of twenty or so snakes in his fist, heedless of their fangs sinking into his hand. The students parted quickly for them as they made their way out, James and Peter following.

*

"Well," Madame Pomfrey sighed, daubing ointment into Sirius' purpling face. "I do hope this doesn't mean _Medusamba_ is about to go back into vogue." She rubbed the ointment through his scalp, leaning forward to follow him when he hissed and flinched away. "Did you see who hexed you, dear?"

"Snape," Sirius replied. "Remus saw him."

"A first year?" Madame Pomfrey replied. "I hardly know a handful of seventh years who might know an ancient Grecian hex. Are you sure?" she asked Remus.

"He pointed his wand at Sirius," Remus fiddled with the ointment smeared over his hand. "I couldn't hear what he said."

"He's been waiting for this," Sirius scowled. "Snivelly bastard."

"Mr. Black," Madame Pomfrey gave him a stern look. "If Mr. Snape did hex you, his Head of House will decide his punishment. You'd best leave it be."

"Right," Sirius said mutinously, sharing a significant look with James.

*

The next day at double potions, Severus Snape smirked at Sirius' grotesquely swollen face through Professor Slughorn's lecture on the diuretic properties of snodgrass. When the students went to retrieve two drachms of grass, Snape and a few other Slytherins pointed and laughed at Sirius, whispering to one another.

"Got something to say, Snivellus?" Sirius said loudly. 

The other Slytherins looked unsure at this, but Snape only crossed his arms and coolly looked Sirius up and down. "I was just saying the snakes looked natural on you, Black. How'd you get them there? Does your family have a bit of parselmouth blood?"

"He's not gotten the hang of it," a Slytherin girl laughed.

"You'd better watch your back," Sirius scowled, his face distorting further through a mass of bruises. 

"Or what?" Snape sneered. "You'll use Dark Magic on me again? I'd be happy to be the reason you were expelled."

Sirius and Severus were nearly nose to nose when James pulled out his wand and muttered "tuniseca."

At once, there was a loud ripping noise that even Slughorn could not pretend to ignore. A great tear was making its way through Snape's trousers and underpants, and when he turned the back half of his robes had entirely fallen away, showing off sallow skin that made Gryffindors and Slytherins alike cover their eyes and giggle.

"Detention, Mr. Potter!" Slug horn called out. "Get your snodgrass and get back to your cauldrons, the rest of you, or you won't get any credit for today's class!"

"Thanks," muttered Sirius.

James shrugged and gave him a wide smile. "What are mates for?"

*

"You lot ready to get your arses in gear tonight?" James announced.

"You broke the enchantment on the brooms?" Peter stage whispered, his eyes wide.

"That's right," James preened in front of his audience, running a hand through his hair to tousle it higher. "Tonight's the night."  
"Cheers," Sirius said, raising his glass of pumpkin juice.

"Long live the Marauders," James said, and even Remus joined in to tap their goblets together.

*

"Snivellus," Sirius groaned thirty minutes later as they sat in the hospital wing with pumpkin juice still pouring liberally from their nostrils. It had begun to take on a sour, fermented stench, and burned their sinuses.

"If it's the Curcurlumba Potion, it should wear off in another few minutes," Madame Pomfrey said, holding a goblet under Sirius' left nostril. She drew it back and sipped delicately.

"I'd better still have those when you lot leave," she gestured to the buckets at their feet, and bustled off to deal with a Hufflepuff fourth year whose boils had begun to explode. 

"Tomorrow's the night," James said miserably.

*

"Epoximise vehiculum," James pointed his wand down at the tiles of the pitched roof. A great white-blue line of magic crackled and joined with another segment of blue light, briefly illuminating an entire zig-zag pattern over the castle roof. He hovered there for a moment on the broom he had appropriated for the night, and squinted myopically up at Gryffindor Tower. 

"Oy, Lupin!" James yelled. 

Remus cracked his eyes open, clung to the rusted rail of the tower, and did not look down. "Epoximise vehiculum," he raised his wand, and a blue line of light rippled from the top of the tower and down its side to join with the line that turned sharply over the rooftops. 

"Ace," Peter shouted from above, and a line of blue from the Astronomy Tower joined the others.

"Stage Four!" James hollered.

Sirius swooped low to where the blue line dropped from the roof and over a cleared path on the grounds that looked suspiciously like a runway. "Levioso," Sirius intoned, tapping the very end of the blue line. It shimmered, then disappeared. 

Sirius headed toward Gryffindor Tower, hovered for several long moments while Remus gingerly pulled himself onto the broom, then flew to the Astronomy Tower. James and Peter were already there, surveying the roof. A small cart hovered in midair next to them. 

"How do we know it's worked?" Peter squinted at the now dark rooftop. 

"We've got to test it," James said.

"Right," Peter looked around. "It's got to be something living, right? Maybe we ought to get a rat?"

"Only charmed to start when a witch or wizard sits inside, I'm afraid," James said. 

"In you go!" Sirius pointed his wand at Peter, who found himself somersaulting into the creaking little cart.

"Wha-AHHHH!" Peter squealed as the cart dove over the edge of the tower.

Sirius began to laugh so hard that he teared up, while James watched Peter's progress with a keen eye.

"Ah," James winced. "Didn't mean to make the turn off Gryffindor Tower quite so sharp. Seat-belt charm held up though!" he gave Remus a slap on the back, who gripped the rail of the tower as he silently watched Peter ricochet like a game of arcade pinball. 

At long last, the little cart made its final dive off the roof, and glided neatly down the runway to come to a final shuddering halt. James and Sirius flew down to inspect, Remus clinging atop Sirius' broom. 

"I'm alright!" Peter shouted as they approached the edge of the runway where it stopped just short of the forest. "Can't believe we did it!" his round face, pink and windblown, lit up with glee.

"Nice job!" James threw an arm around Peter's shoulders, and he positively glowed. 

"I want to have a go," Sirius said as the now empty cart trundled back up to the top of the tower.

James pushed his round glasses up the bridge of his nose. "We ought to test the secondary locations triggers," he said, businesslike. 

"What is that?" Remus' quiet voice cut through the loud chatter. They looked at his grave expression, and followed where his finger pointed into the looming forest, which had begun to rustle its new leaves in a thousand simultaneous whispers.


	15. The Golden Death

A dim green light glowed distantly through the trees. It pulsed then faded, only to pulse again a moment later. It was barely visible, but the utter darkness of the new moon made the eerie light perceptible even miles away.

"Hop on," James mounted his broom, and the four boys glided above the treetops, where they could still only just make out the light in the distance. It gave the forest a sickly, unnatural look.

"Maybe we ought to tell a teacher," Peter swallowed.

"No," James said. "This is our chance," he looked to Sirius and Remus. "If we tell someone now, we might never figure out what's gone wrong with the forest."

"They'd probably just as likely stick us straight in detention as listen to us," Sirius said.  
Peter looked imploringly to Remus, but he said nothing. 

A moaning growl rose from the trees below, and a dark shape barreled towards them through the forest canopy. Peter yelled in terror, but the shape only flew over their heads, and towards the castle grounds. 

"The demon bird," James breathed. 

"Looks like it's heading towards the greenhouses," Sirius noted, sharing a glance with Remus. 

"Hang on," James said, barreling toward the growing pulses of green light, Sirius following close behind. 

"We ought to come in from a little ways out," Sirius said as they approached, flying neck and neck with James. "Don't know what might be down there."

"Good idea," James said, descending slowly until he broke through the canopy of the trees. 

They hovered for a moment in the tree's branches, James and Sirius quietly surveying the ground far below.

Peter yelped loudly, and James turned to glare at him. "Quiet," he growled. 

"I didn't mean to!" Peter protested. "The tree tried to take my eye out!"

"Getting hit with tree branches is sort of to be expected when you're surrounded by them," Sirius hissed.

"Your eye?" Remus said ominously. Sirius whirled to look at him, and pulled out his wand.

At once, the trees began to attack. Tiny branches flitted through the air with high-pitched screams, bullet-like in their velocity. They went unerringly to the four boys' eyes, and James shrieked as one bounced off his glasses. Remus caught it in a reflex too fast and deft to be entirely human as the boys covered their eyes.

"Out!" James yelled, and yanked his broomstick upward, but to no avail. It had begun to spiral slowly to the ground, whipping them round and round in disorienting circles. 

"Arresto momentum," Sirius was flicking his wand alternately at his broomstick and the trees, to little effect. 

"We're not here to harm your trees," Remus said desperately to the twig he had caught.

"Arresto momentum!" James pointed at his own broomstick, but the spiral only grew faster until it became the mad whirl of a maple seed pod. 

"We're trying to help," Remus called out.

"Lupin!" Sirius elbowed him in the ribs. "Do something useful and help me!" Sirius kept shooting off red sparks of light at the trees, the small twigs hanging immobile in the air. 

"There, there," Remus' voice cracked as he stroked the twig in his palm. "We're friends of Hagrid's. We're not here to hurt you."

"Like hell we aren't," Sirius said.

"Shut up, Black," James barked, and Sirius went quiet. 

"Thank you," Remus uncurled his palm and stared at the twig, which had small black eyes, delicate curled limbs, and a watery frown. "D'you think you could tell the others we don't mean any harm?"

The creature stood and climbed up Remus' fingers to yell an odd, high-pitched wail. At once, the rain of attackers stopped, and the boys floated the final few feet to the ground to step off their brooms.

"It's kind of cute," James peered over at the tiny creature clinging to Remus' fingers.

"Cute?" Sirius said incredulously. "Have you ever seen a photo of someone who took a bowtruckle through the eye?"

"Softest way to get through to the brain," Remus nodded, gently stroking the bowtruckle. 

"Well," James looked around. "There went our quiet entrance."

The trees around them glowed faintly with sickly green light that seemed to travel over their trunks in a web of shimmering veins and connect down into the forest floor.

"What is it?" James approached, hesitantly reaching out. Peter caught his hand before he touched the bark. 

"Best not, mate," Peter stepped back from the tree, and James dropped his hand.

"It looks like some sort of fungus," Sirius peered at the veins of light running through the bark. "Is it diseased?"

"No," Remus said, approaching one of the trees to let the bowtruckle hop up onto it. "I've seen that before, with Hagrid. He seemed to think it was normal.” He paused. “But it was a sort of shining silver. Not like this.”

A noise like thunder rumbled in the distance, and James looked out into the dark mouth of the forest ahead. 

"Lumos," James held his wand aloft in one hand, his broomstick in the other, and headed toward the epicenter of the green light. "We'd best move on." 

The sound of thunder grew louder all around them as the approached the source of the light. The noise seemed to emanate from everywhere at once as the ground dipped, and they walked deeper into a great bowl of earth. 

"We should go back to the castle," Peter said, eyes darting around at the light flowing through the ground and up to cover the trees. It had reached an almost blinding intensity, making them shield their eyes against it. Still, James led them deeper. 

"Or at least send up sparks," Peter suggested. 

"Good idea," Sirius said dryly. "That'll make it easy for whatever's doing this to find exactly where we are."

The trees thinned until they reached the center of the bowl, a wide, circular glen flanked by gnarled and ancient trees. The hollows in their trunks were large enough to fit a giant. 

The thundering sound grew deafening, and Peter pointed at the shadows in the trees surrounding them.

"There are creatures in the woods," he said, petrified. 

At that moment, the pulsing light disappeared, and the glen became as utterly dark as the night around it. 

"Lumos," James said, but with the light of his wand he was not able to see much more than the hand in front of his face. "Lumos maxima!" he held his wand aloft, peering into the trees. The shadowy shapes of the creatures had disappeared.

"Look," Remus said, his head tilted back toward the sky in wonder. 

Leaves were falling from the ancient trees, thousands of them drifting towards the ground light as gossamer. Remus caught one gently in his outstretched palm; it shimmered a deep metallic gold, and was curled slightly at the edges. When he attempted to turn it over, it burst into dust. 

"Do not fire," a deep, gruff voice rang out from the trees, and the boys swirled towards it, wands outstretched. 

The sound of thunder grew again, and a herd of centaurs emerged from the trees, their hooves striking the ground with each step. They circled the boys, peering down at them suspiciously. 

"They are wizards," another voice countered. "They point their stolen wood at us," his nostrils flared. "Only a wizard or witch could have so desecrated this holy place."

"They are only foals," countered the deep voice from before. "They do not have the power to have done this." 

"What is it that's happened?" James asked while Peter stood behind him, wide-eyed. 

"Death has happened, young foal," the centaur regarded him solemnly. "The death of an ancient life that grew many years before your birth, and might have lived many years hence."

"The trees are dead," Remus said, almost to himself. He studied the charred black trunks, the barren branches, the golden floor below of leaves crumbling to dust. 

"It was foretold," said another centaur, gazing dreamily up at the stars. "When the heartwood falls, a Dark Power will rise. It will consume life for its own without remorse, and the lasting blight it brings to the ancient parts of the earth will be the least mourned."

Another centaur joined her, peering up at the heaves. "Venus is falling tonight." 

"A prediction made by a witch," snorted the centaur that still eyed the boys suspiciously. "And all the heartwood is not dead."

A loud splintering noise rent the clearing, and the centaurs shied away as one of the ancient trees fell with the earsplitting snapping of hundreds of branches, crashing to shake the ground beneath them. 

"Aegis," the centaur with the gruff voice addressed the suspicious one. "We must convene with Albus Dumbledore, and we cannot leave the foals here."

"You do not suggest I carry them upon my back like a common mule?" Aegis pawed the ground, agitated.

"I suggest we engage in the most expedient means of departure for us all," the centaur said, as another of the trees began to creak ominously. 

"Another may take pity on the wizard foals," Aegis snorted. "They will not ride upon my back." He cantered out of the clearing, and some of the others followed him. 

"Foals," the gruff centaur addressed James and Remus. "Quickly," he kneeled to the ground, and they attempted to gracefully clamber onto his back. Sirius and Peter showed much more hesitation when the centaur that had mentioned the prophecy knelt for them, but they were soon persuaded when a branch as large as Gryffindor Tower crashed to the ground nearby. 

When they finally left the forest and dismounted at the edge of the castle grounds, Professor Dumbledore stood waiting for them, calm and grave in his nightrobe. Beside him stood Professor Goldberg, her hair pinned back and wearing a heavy cloak. 

"Tamarack," Dumbledore bowed in greeting. "I fear it is not good news that brings you here to the edge of the forest. Professor Goldberg tells me she saw a great flash of light on her trip to Hogsmeade, and thought it best to wake me at once." He peered down at James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter, as if noticing them for the first time. "I thank you for safely returning my students. Though I do wonder how they managed to stray so far from their beds." He gave them each a disapproving look in turn that chilled some more than others. Remus looked away in shame, and Peter whimpered. 

"It is a long tale, Albus," Tamarack said, "yet I have little to report." 

"I'll take the children back to the castle," Professor Goldberg offered, eyeing the boys’ curious expressions. 

"But," James said, and Dumbledore turned to him. 

"What brought you to the forest tonight?" he asked. 

"We saw the light," James said. "From the Tower. We thought something might be wrong."

"You have not been investigating this matter on your own?" Dumbledore looked again at each of them in turn, and they shook their heads. "Do have anything further you would like to confess now?"

"Lichen's involved," Sirius said, meeting Dumbledore's eyes. "An owl came right from where the light was. And we've seen it report to her." 

"I assure you that Professor Lichen was not culpable in what happened here tonight," Dumbledore said sternly. "Professor McGonagall will decide your punishments in the morning," his gaze hovered over Remus, who was staring intently at his feet. "You are all very lucky to be alive," he said, "and if I hear that any of you have left the grounds at night again, you will risk immediate expulsion." He said this last word to Sirius, who looked away. 

"Thank you, Professor," Dumbledore said to Goldberg. "Please ensure they remain in their rooms until the morning."


	16. A Peck of Pickled Toads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two chapters again today~

In the wee tender hours of Tuesday morning, Porpormint Avery (the second) rose with the need to use the lavatory. He made his practiced way through the Slytherin tunnels, wishing he had brought slippers; the Black Lake’s teal penumbra through the occasional window was an eerie beauty, but it did make for a chilly floor. 

He had just begun to find blessed relief when he heard an odd rattle behind him, as if from a set of rickety wheels. He paused mid-stream with a sinking sense of foreboding. Before he could turn to view his attacker, he received a firm smack behind the knees and fell backwards. His arse had smacked what appeared to be the bottom of a wooden cart, and his limbs flew akimbo over its sides. He just had time to grasp its conveniently carved handles when it rocketed him backwards with a scream unbecoming his reputation.

The cart flew through the tunnels, past a wide-eyed Lumlie who disapparated just in time. It scurried through the entryway, knocking over Mr. Filch's mop bucket to spew pink froth over the floor. As it trundled up the stairs, Professor Flitwick, coffee in one hand and wand in the other, attempted to immobilize it, but it merely leapt out of the way and continued on its course. He watched after it for a moment, listening to Avery's shrieks, and continued back to his classroom. 

Finally, the cart hovered at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Porpormint Avery (the second) looked down, and from that moment onward he was never caught without his wand again. The cart gave a little shudder and tipped down over the side of the tower, its occupant’s yells either unheard or ignored by the castle's sleeping occupants. 

When the cart deposited him to stumble back out onto the grounds, Avery looked around to see if anyone had witnessed him then dashed back to the Slytherin common room. The cart reversed to hover at the top of the Astronomy tower. 

There, it waited. 

*

A group of four first-year boys made their way out of Gryffindor Tower, heads hung low. They had just received the most blistering verbal flaying of their lives (and given the ones some of their number had received before, this was notable). They had also been given detention each spare moment through exams (at least, Peter had moaned). Consequently, they were so lost in their collective misery that only an ear-splitting shriek from the fifth floor Prefect's bathroom brought them to attention.

Three of the four boys looked immediately cheered, giving each other knowing grins. A rattling noise grew until a shape flew past them so rapidly that it appeared to blur, the shrieks from its occupant unceasing. The fourth boy chuckled. 

*

"Ah," James said, dipping his toast soldiers into his eggs and smiling at the sounds of screaming that had filled the corridor. "That is the sound of our immortality, lads. May we never be forgotten."

"Amen," Peter nodded. 

"You know," Sirius said, pensively nursing his juice, "I may have gained a new appreciation for muggles and their whatsits." 

"Rollercoasters," Peter said. 

"And they haven't even got sticking charms," Remus pointed out.

Sirius laughed, a twinkle in his eye. "Daft bastards."

"I saw a program once on muggles who jump out of aeroplanes with only parachutes on their backs," Peter offered.

"Really?" Sirius leaned in. 

"Twelve o'clock," James muttered, looking very interested in his toast.

Professor McGonagall was striding towards them with all the fury of a Hungarian Horntail. If she had opened her mouth and breathed fire, none of them would have been particularly surprised. 

"You four," she said with all the clipped severity a Scottish accent could muster. "Come."

"Yes, ma'am," James said. 

Professor Dumbledore cut an impressive figure at the top of the Astronomy Tower, shining yellow robes billowing out behind him as he peered at one of his students ricocheting down the castle roof. 

"It must be some modification of a simple sticking charm," Professor Flitwick said beside him as the cart took a particularly sharp turn. For a moment, you could see his bated breath. "Yes," Professor Flitwick pumped his fist as the cart lurched back on track, and hopped up on the rail for a better view. "Ingenious."

McGonagall cleared her throat, and presented her students. "Your culprits, Headmaster."

"Indeed," Dumbledore stared down at them over his spectacles. "So this caper was the reason for your nocturnal ramblings?" He did not seem particularly peeved, and if anything looked relieved. 

"Could've been anyone, really," James shrugged.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I think not. This bit of mischief occurred before you were locked in your rooms for the night?"

"Yes, Headmaster," Remus said. 

"Well, then, Minerva," he addressed McGonagall. "I believe we already assigned them their punishment for their actions last night."

"So we did," she pursed her lips. 

"You were so admirably thorough that we may not, in fact, have a spare moment left to punish them further." He peered down at the cart, which had just emptied itself upon the lawn. 

"I find I have the sudden urge to go to the lavatory," Professor Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "Professor Flitwick, I will leave you to dismantle this with these four," he gestured to the boys, "in your own time, of course."

"Thank you, Headmaster." Flitwick looked at them as if Christmas had come early. 

*

In the days following the prank, Gryffindor house points had dipped below Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. Consequently, this led to James and Sirius being better students than they had ever been before. They were so attentive that Professor Flitwick asked if they were feeling quite alright, and Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes heavenwards every time she turned around and their hands were raised. 

This determined effort allowed Gryffindor to recoup most of its lost points in a matter of weeks, and what little antipathy lingered towards them was quickly forgotten. 

It did not hurt that the prank was generally regarded as “wicked cool,” and James Potter and Sirius Black (and sometimes, by extension, Remus and Peter) became instantly the most popular first-years among the Gryffindors. They received reverse nods of approval from even some of the seventh years, who usually considered it their jobs to remain aloof from the doings of the younger students.

Professor McGonagall, however, had not budged on her tight schedule of detentions, which meant that Argus Filch had quite possibly never been happier in his life. 

"Vomit roaches," Filch pointed a long, thin finger down the sewer tunnel that led to the Black Lake. "Got an infestation of 'em. Been waiting for a good few weeks of detention to get 'em cleared out." He smiled with all of his crooked teeth. "Want to know why they're called vomit roaches?"

"Not particularly," James said, low.

"On account of they eat vomit. And sewage." He kicked a roach the size of a well-fed rat over to Peter. "Then when you mess with 'em, they vomit it all up!"

The roach projectile vomited a stream of foul-smelling sewage over Peter's trouser leg. 

"Alright," Filch narrowed his eyes at the four boys. "Pluck and crush," he gestured at the open sewage tunnel. "And if you think about leaving," his eyes bulged, "know I'll be checking in and reporting to the headmaster." He pointed two fingers to his eyes, then out to sweep over them. 

"Sadist," Sirius muttered when Filch had turned the corner and disappeared from sight. 

"He is always moaning about bringing back the thumbscrews," James replied. "Lumos maxima."

Thousands of glittering vomit roaches scurried away from the light, and the four boys groaned. 

Five days later and about a foot deep into the tunnel, the boys had not made much progress with the vomit roaches, which seemed to multiply each day they returned. They had also found a pocket of streeler snails, whose venom was so toxic that they had to wear transfigured suits of armor to avoid being disintegrated. Their sixth day, James had mutinously suggested one good _avada kedavra_ would take care of the problem. 

“At this rate, we’ll never know what’s happened with the giants,” James complained. 

“I think that’s the point, mate,” Peter replied, a few good steps back from the streeler snails that Sirius was happily throwing rock salt over and muttering “I am become death, destroyer of snails.” 

“I think we ought to,” James started. 

“No,” Remus said. 

“But we could-“ 

“No. Your parents might just send you off to Durmstrang,” Remus stomped on a roach that spouted up a stream of vomit, “or Ilvermorny. But I’m not getting expelled.” 

“I don’t plan on getting expelled, Lupin-“

“No one plans on getting expelled-“

“I thought we might try _fac simile_. We can take shifts and use the clock. Filch won’t even notice.”

“I’ve always wanted to try one,” Sirius dropped his bag of salt and took out his wand. “Hey, Pete. Stand still.” 

Peter stood so still he might have been petrified, and Sirius paused with his wand pointed out. “What’s the movement?”

“Sort of a wiggle,” James demonstrated. “Then a loop.” 

“Got it,” Sirius furrowed his brows. “Fac simile.” 

For a moment, it looked as if Peter had gained an identical twin. Then he jumped away, and the projection remained in place. Peter hesitantly passed an arm through it, and shivered.

James looked relieved. “Wiggle and a loop,” he repeated. 

The next several days, they were relieved of sewer duty and given to Professor Slughorn to separate the organs of a peck of pickled toads to use as potions ingredients. He retired to his quarters about fifteen minutes into the hour, muttering about “nurse a glass of brandy” and giving them a squashed smile. As soon as he disappeared from sight, James dropped his pickled toad. 

“Sirius,” he spread his arms and waved them. 

“Fac simile,” Sirius muttered, and hologram James remained seated at the bench while his human counterpart circled.

“Wicked,” James said admiringly, and tossed the cloak over his head. 

“Go for Lichen,” Sirius suggested.

James’ head appeared from beneath the cloak. “Obviously. I got, what,” he squinted at the hologram. “Hour, tops?”

“Tops,” Sirius gave him two thumbs up. 

James disappeared. “Excellent,” his disembodied voice replied. 

An hour and forty pickled toads later, James reappeared. “Finite,” he pointed his wand at his shimmering doppelganger, and took its place. “She sang to the mimbulus mibletonia for a good half hour,” he reported to their expectant looks. “And she got a letter from that demon owl.” 

“Did you manage a look at it?” Sirius asked. 

“Nah. Couldn’t get close enough. And she burned it right after,” James raised his eyebrows impressively. 

“Maybe we can intercept the owl,” Remus offered. “Get the messages that way.”

“Lupin,” James leaned back to look at him. “Thought you disapproved.” 

“I said I don’t want to get expelled,” Remus neatly skinned his toad, and plopped it into a bowl of brine. “But I think we ought to find out what she’s up to, and bring it to Dumbledore.” 

“He’s not going to listen to us,” Sirius countered. 

“Not if we don’t have evidence,” Remus said. 

“We already tried that,” James waved a hand. “Best that we solve this one ourselves.” He gave Peter a look. 

“Yeah,” Peter agreed at once. “You reckon it likes vomit roaches?” 

*

“Here, demon bird,” Peter stood covered in sewer vomit and waved the flailing roach enticingly. 

The bird opened its wide maw, yellow eyes bulging to the sides, and let out a moaning growl. 

“Oh, Merlin,” Peter shut his eyes, keeping the roach extended. “Should’ve kept my mouth shut- AH!” 

The bird had flown to perch on his head, fluttering its feathers agitatedly. It eyed the roach.

“That’s right,” Peter stuttered. “Eat the nice, wriggly, juicy roach. Oh Merlin. HA!” The bird dove for the roach, giant wings outstretched, and Peter snatched the letter from its claws. “Geminio!” he tapped his wand on the letter, and it shivered to produce a slightly blurry copy. “Stupid bird,” he kicked at the roach, which was flailing on its back where it lay on the ground

At once, the roach took off through the high grasses, and the demon owl chased after it. Peter hovered in the greenhouse alcove where he’d been carefully hidden.

“Come back,” he said, waving the original letter aloft. The owl paid him no mind, and dove through the long grasses, letting out another moaning growl when it missed the roach. 

Peter threw the invisibility cloak over his shoulders, and went belly-down through the grass. “Demon bird,” he hissed. 

*

“You smell like vomit,” Sirius wrinkled his nose as Peter emerged and handed the cloak back to James, triumphantly sweaty.

“The cloak smells like vomit,” James said mournfully. “How d’you clean an invisibility cloak?”

Peter silently held the letter aloft. Sirius’ eyes went round, and he snatched it. 

“Didn’t think you’d do it, mate,” James slapped Peter on the back, and huddled round. 

Peter’s brow furrowed. “Thanks?”

“I knew he could,” Remus gave Peter an encouraging smile. “What’s it say?” 

“Creepy,” Sirius commented, and handed the letter over to James. 

“That doesn’t tell us anything,” James said dismissively, and handed the copy over to Remus.

The letter had only a couple of hastily scrawled lines, which read: _I am sorry to have displeased you my Lord. There will be no more delays._

“I know what it means,” Peter said, looking overwhelmed but puffing his chest up at the attention all the same. 

“Share with the class, Pete,” James prompted, shoving his dissected toad into the bin. 

“I heard Dumbledore talking about it,” Peter started. 

“Dumbledore was there?” Remus’ brow furrowed. 

“No,” Peter shook his head. “Months ago.” 

“And you’re just telling us now?” Sirius raised an eyebrow. 

“Didn’t know what it meant, then,” Peter shrugged. “I got lost in the tunnels, and I ended up outside Dumbledore’s office.” 

“You knew about a tunnel to Dumbledore’s office,” Sirius gestured, “and you didn’t say anything for _months_?”

“What’d he say, Peter?” Remus asked. 

“Well.” Peter thought for a moment. “Hagrid was there. He said something about bringing a gift to a Gurg, and Dumbledore seemed worried about it. I just remembered that the last thing I heard was that someone was calling himself a Lord.” 

“One of the giants?” Remus asked.

“They didn’t say anything about giants,” Peter frowned. 

“A gurg is a leader of the giants,” Remus said as the others looked at him. “I read a lot of books.”

“Oh,” Peter looked embarrassed. “Prolly then, yeah. So I think, if Dumbledore’s worried about this giant, and Professor Lichen’s working with them-“

“We’ve got to do something,” James said decisively. “Detention’s over,” he kicked his bucket to the side.

“We’ve got a quarter hour left before we’re supposed to leave,” Remus pointed out. 

“Slughorn’s out cold,” Sirius agreed with James. “Peter, do you think you could get us back to that tunnel?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Peter squared his shoulders. “I got kind of lost the last time, though. I just know it went up.” 

“That’s a start,” James held out the cloak, and Peter and Sirius slipped beneath it. 

“We can track our way,” Remus sighed. “That way we won’t get lost.”

“Excellent,” James said, and headed out into the castle. 

At night, the house elves were more active than ever, cleaning laundry, sweeping floors, cooking breakfast, never seeming to rest. When the four boys passed the laundry room under the cloak, Namby and Pamby began to bicker- Namby insisted the laundry had been cleaned, but Pamby smelled a lingering odor of vomit. 

“Indago,” Remus whispered every few steps. 

“We need a map,” Sirius complained after they ran into their trail for the fifth time. 

“Not a bad idea,” James said. 

“I think that’s it,” Peter said suddenly, pointing to a corridor where not a single gas lamp flickered. 

The four boys approached it, but soon found why it was so dark. It had been entirely caved in. 

“Merlin’s balls,” James swore, raising the light of his wand to inspect the boulders for openings, and finding none large enough. 

“Sorry,” Peter deflated. 

“Did your best,” James gave him a slap on the back. “We’ll just have to keep looking.” 

The walk back to Gryffindor Tower was a quiet and dispirited one; not even James felt the need to muffle a laugh when Filch got a whiff of vomit and started yelling that he’d report them to the Headmaster. They had reached the seventh floor when Peter paused, causing the cloak to slip off all four of them. 

“Pete!” James hissed, trying to rearrange the cloak before the Fat Lady woke and saw them.

Peter simply stood, and pointed out one of the tall windows lined with a crosshatch of muntin bars. James, irritated, shuffled over beneath the cloak with Sirius and Remus. He looked out the window, and froze. 

“Oh,” James said.


End file.
